


Where the Heart Is

by primroseshows



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen Fic, Humour, M/M, Multi, OT5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 46,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primroseshows/pseuds/primroseshows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, far in the past, Sakurai Sho made an errant remark about Arashi living together in a house. One day, far in the future, Aiba remembered it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the early months of Arashi's career, back when they were still stuck wearing off-black suits that were two sizes too large and were being taught the proper way to laugh on camera so only a decent amount of teeth showed, Sho-chan had made a passing comment about how hilarious it would be if the five of them lived together. 

Aiba, now, in what pretty much constituted seniority for idol stars, remembers neither the exact time, the exact setting, nor the exact conversation that had brought about that remark from Sho, spoken so casually, with the lilt of a laugh at the end, as if Sho himself couldn't even take the thought seriously for the three seconds it took to voice it. What Aiba does remember, though, is the way that his heart thudded in his chest when he'd heard it: a deep, resonant _lub-dub_ that caused a shift in the way Aiba's young blood pumped through his veins. 

He hadn't even been that big on Arashi in those days. It was still mostly surreal to him, the non-stop camera-persistent life he had been pushed into, him, some dumb kid who wanted to play basketball with SMAP. The only truth he could claim was that being in Arashi was hard work, but it was really fun sometimes too, because the other members were cool people. Living with them in a big house would probably be fun as well. 

That moment, in that evening in that year in that decade, hadn't been the best opportunity to seek out elaboration on such an idea, and even Aiba, made up of 80% eagerness and 20% realism, had known it then. But against the biting wind of their night-filming schedule, the background noise of Nino and Jun's bickering, the sluggish brush of Captain's shoulder against Aiba's as they waited for their next scene, and the chaos whirring around them consisting of overly patient and talented staff members convinced that five skinny teenagers were going to be the Next Big Thing, Aiba had taken the effort to tuck away Sho's precious words in the back recesses of his mind, like a squirrel storing an acorn in the earth for the oncoming winter. 

Arashi's winter, though literally quite the very opposite in terms of their accomplishments and labour, lasted over twenty years. Aiba, by his thirty-seventh birthday, had forgotten clean about the seed of that idea.

But then, one day, he was leafing through one of Sho-chan's many half-loosened newspapers, and his thumb happened to open a page where a city correspondent had done an article about large houses in the outer prefectures whose prices and distance to Tokyo centre, in response to the economic downturn, had doomed them to demolished by the city, to free up space to build a new chain of mini-malls.

The squirrel in Aiba's head, which had long been hibernating in patient slumber between the idle brainspace Aiba allocated to physics and homonyms, suddenly woke up, and began to sniff around.

~

"I happened to notice," Nino starts, landing in a flumpy bundle of scarves and capris beside Aiba, "that a certain someone sitting on this couch has withdrawn a huge amount of money from his bank account in the past week."

"Did you finally use your own money for something?" Aiba says excitedly, and then realizes, "Oh! You mean me." He frowns. "Stop snooping on my bank account, Nino!"

Nino's grin is unrepentant and unshakeable. "You bought something big. Bigger than a car. Bigger than a sports car and a new set of golf clubs. A restaurant, maybe?"

"No, and not a cruise ship either."

"I was about to say a petting farm."

"Not a petting farm."

"It can't be something as tame as a house?" Nino's tone is disbelieving. 

Aiba laughs. "Why not? Maybe I'm finally ready to settle down."

Nino's hand is immediately cupping Aiba's forehead. "You must be joking," he says, and Aiba takes the chance to drop a quick kiss onto Nino's slackened mouth. Nino reels back, caught off guard. His gaze turns wary and suspicious, like he can't quite tell what kind of trick Aiba's pulling, or if it's a trick at all.

"I am merely planning for the future," Aiba tells him magnanimously, and leaves it at that.

~

The house Aiba bought is in Chiba, naturally. It's two stories tall, white-washed concrete with interior wooden panelling, an almost-flat roof tiled with rust-red and dust-brown shingles, and the front door is framed by two misshapen trees, shrunk and curved like Aiba's grandpa's back. Its upstairs windows are large and rectangular, like two huge eyeglass frames ensconced on the face of the house. It's about thirty minutes to the coast on foot, if you walk straight through the backyard and take a shortcut away from the main road. There are seventeen grey stone slabs that lead from the sidewalk to the front door, and eleven more that branch off to the right side of the house, where there's a small, detached garage. All in all, a very respectable place to live.

The backyard is smaller than he would prefer, there are no windowsills to hang plants from, the ceilings of the bedrooms are slightly too low for Aiba's tastes, the plumbing has been so long unused that it all has to be fixed and there's not enough _colour_... it's not the perfect summer-encapsulating house of Aiba's dreams. But that's okay. Aiba's always been someone who got struck more by something's potential than something's capacity. 

Because as Aiba had trailed after the real estate agent's soft-slipped footsteps like a child in a corn maze, he'd only been lending her half an ear to her rattling off statistics about the building's heat insulation and high quality flooring. Mostly, his attention had been usurped by the sleek, renovated kitchen (Jun-kun would conquer that like a magnanimous warlord), the spacious living room (an outlet at every corner, just how Nino would want it) and the two smaller rooms that flank either side of it (perfect for an office and a studio, respectively), and the smooth, twirling banister that ringed the winding staircase to the second floor (just think of all Aiba could do with that! It'd be just like the movies). 

Upstairs: one large master bedroom, three single rooms edging the northeast corner of the house, tiny in comparison, and an empty space between the third and master bedroom that overlooked the back of the house and the green-blue horizon line beyond. 

Aiba had spent a long time, standing by the posterior windows, staring outside, as if he could see the future there if he focused hard enough, written in evening clouds and sunset gradient.

The agent, disconcerted with his silence, had eventually lost patience and asked him if he'd had any more questions about the place.

Aiba had blinked and turned to her, eyes glistening with the captured light from the falling western sun.

"Yeah," he'd said. "How much is the asking price?"

~

"What's this I hear about a house?" Jun asks him, over pre-pre-pre-lunch coffee. 

"I dunno," Aiba returns, tearing open another packet of sugar. "What did Blabbermouth Nino tell you?"

"He said you'd gone off on the deep end and had gotten a Chinese mail-order bride to cook you gyoza every night and take care of your pet army without complaint, and needed a house to keep her away from the media eye."

"That sounds about right," Aiba grins, taking a tentative sip of his drink and then splurging on another pack of sugar. 

"That's the fourth one," Jun says warningly. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

"But I've only had three cups today! So that's less sugar than usual, if you count up the totals."

"Then I guess we should add that red bean bun you scarfed down this morning, on the ride over here."

Aiba winces. "Well..."

"The house," Jun prods, jabbing Aiba's side with an elbow. "You actually bought one?"

"Yep. It's big, too."

Only one of Jun's eyebrows rise up, which means that he's curious and surprised, but not in a terrible way. "Why though? Tell me you're not planning to fill it up with abandoned animals."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and find out!" Aiba chirps, and takes a long, slow sip of his coffee. "Aaah," he sighs. "Just right."

Jun watches him drink, the edges of his mouth curled downwards. "Sickening."

"Maybe if you added more sugar to your diet you'd become more sweet!"

Jun ignores that. "So why are you keeping so secretive about this? You're not going to--" he frowns abruptly, "Wait, this isn't for some new haunted house segment, is it? Are you going to rig the house?"

"No!"

"Because I was going to say that Sho made us promise that we wouldn't do any more of those--"

"I remember _that_ ," Aiba says. "It's a secret because it's more fun that way. Duh." 

Jun purses his lips, maybe holding back a comment criticising Americanisms and Aiba's maturity level. "Fine. Whatever hare-brained scheme you're cooking up right now, at least give us some warning when it's almost complete, hm? And try not to hurt yourself."

"Aye aye, boss," Aiba salutes with his spoon. He gets a splash of coffee on his cheek and Jun rolls his eyes before heading back to the photoshoot. 

~

"A house, Aiba-chan?" Ohno asks quietly, when it's their turn to sit out as the camera bulbs flash on the supposedly "smarter" members of the group.

Aiba stretches in his chair and cracks his neck before flopping around to face Ohno. "Yeah, Leader! Wait till you see it!"

"It's really pretty, huh."

"Reaaaally pretty," Aiba confirms. "And it's really near to the bay! You can walk there if you go through the woods in the back. There's like this one trail that's filled with poison ivy and I nearly stepped in them but the real estate agent stopped me. She said she could get them cut for me before I moved in."

"Near the sea?" Ohno asks, a smile beginning to form on his face.

"Yeah! And there's this tiny little restaurant there that I'd never noticed before -- though I guess I haven't gone back to Chiba in forever -- and it's got sand all over its floor and the chef mumbles so much you can't understand anything he says but oh my _God_ , Captain, the ootori is _so good_. I actually died eating it."

"Am I talking to Aiba-chan's ghost right now, then?"

"I was dead but then the love of my best friends revived me! Just like Peter Pan. Or was that Tinkerbell?"

Ohno huffs out a jingling giggle. "I don't know. Ask Nino."

"Nino's stupid."

"Says the leading scientist in stupidity!" Nino calls from across the room. Aiba ignores him.

"He can't keep his mouth shut," he explains earnestly to Ohno, lowering his voice now.

"His mouth is good for other things," Ohno leans in to murmur, teasing. 

"Captain!" Aiba feigns a gasp. "So scandalous! I'm going to tell Nino you said that."

Ohno just laughs again, and Aiba agrees: imagining the look on Nino's face is pretty much hilarious.

"Do you need help moving in, Aiba-chan?" Ohno asks, like it's no trouble to be there, and Aiba feels a swell in his chest at Ohno's kindness. Not everyone would bother to offer, considering that a) Aiba can afford to hire a moving crew, b) Ohno really doesn't have time to help Aiba move; in fact none of them do, and c) Ohno, while as kind-hearted as a baby sloth, is also as slow-moving as a baby sloth when it comes to things that don't involve dancing and fishing. 

"I think I'm good," Aiba reassures him. "It'll be better too, if you guys just get to see the finished product."

"Ah, okay."

"Because it's going to be really great. At least, I hope so. I want you to love it."

Ohno stares at him, blinking once. 

"I mean. It'd mean a lot to me if you guys liked it," Aiba says, a bit roughly.

"We will," says Ohno lightly, and despite himself, Aiba tenses: did he just give the whole shebang away?

But Ohno just reaches over and pats Aiba's hand, a silent, Don't worry, I've got you, and Aiba slumps back in relief. 

"I can't wait," Ohno whispers, and it's no fucking wonder Aiba thinks Ohno Satoshi is the most genius of them all.

~

"Buying property is a really good investment, Aiba, congratulations," is what Sho says, over lunch in the NTV cafeteria. He spends the next ten minutes detailing what it means to the economy that people are buying permanent residences away from the main city, not just condos and apartments and high-rises, and how Aiba, if it turned out he didn't like the purchase, could easily resell the place at a higher price, and maybe use those earnings to invest in some stocks. It's Sho in full knowledge-imparting regalia: his plumes of resplendent academic feathers fanned out for all the other peacocks to admire. (Except the only other peacock in the vicinity is Aiba, and if Aiba had to personify himself as a bird, he'd want to be a toucan, because toucans are cool.) The other three have all left for other schedules, so there's no one around to stem the onslaught of Sho's educational benevolence. 

Aiba waits it out until he's sure Sho has finished, swallows his mouthful of rice, and says smartly, "Okay. Neat."

Sho spears some more beef onto his bowl. "I had no idea you were even in the market for a house, Aiba. How long did you spend looking?"

"Like, two weeks?"

Sho doesn't look reassured. "That's a bit fast, don't you think?"

"Well, um, no time like the present?" Truthfully, Aiba had been pissed it'd taken so long for the paperwork to go through. He doesn't know how he managed the feat of becoming _less_ patient as he got older, but there it is. It's like that Benjamin Button movie he saw once with Jun-kun, except with virtues. 

"It's not that you," Sho starts, shoulders tensing minutely, "it's not a situation of you being unhappy in Tokyo, is it? You needing to get away?" His eyebrows are drawn in, anxious. 

"Oh, Sho-chan!" Aiba says so quickly that grains of rice fly out of his mouth. How could Sho-chan even think that? "No no no! It's not like that at all! I'm not like -- trying to escape or anything. Wow, no."

Sho's expression shifts, and the tautness of his neck relaxes a bit. "Then what brought on this new venture of yours?"

Aiba shrugs. "I think it was always meant to happen; just that I'm finally getting around to it now."

"Building your dream home?"

"Something like that," Aiba says. "I'm going to try my best, anyway."

"And it's what you really want?"

"Yes for sure!" Aiba nods emphatically. 

"Then I'm glad," Sho-chan says, and his smile is warm. His foot taps Aiba's once under the table, gentle as a reminder. "Just -- wherever you end up, make sure we can get to you easily, please?"

"You're making it sound like I'm packing up and moving halfway across the world, Sho-chan!" Aiba whines. His foot taps back. "I don't know why you're so nervous about it; it was your idea in the first place."

Of course, Sho doesn't get it at all, and Aiba isn't above taking smug glee from that.

~

When you're sixteen years old and sailing across the Pacific ocean to perform your debut concert in Hawaii, you're so full of an adrenaline-fused muddle of emotions -- fear, excitement, nervousness, more fear, regret, wonder, even more fear -- that a person can hardly be blamed for failing to see the big picture of what was really happening at the time. 

Yes, Aiba and four other auspicious boys were about to debut as a new JE group; yes, they were on the first real days of what would, if all things went well, be a long and winding journey of the rest of their lives as idols; yes, they'd been given the opportunity of a lifetime to become a recognized name in the country's -- and perhaps the world's -- entertainment industry; yes to all of the above and some more besides.

But what was actually happening there on that cruise boat, was that five gangly teenagers were trying to keep respectfully upright and believably cheer-faced on a large, speeding cruise ship, while getting their photos taken. Metaphorically, they were aware that they were standing at the edge of a precipice, but were unaware of just how high they were off the ground, how far the jump was to the other side, how much of a risk it would be to stumble even the littlest bit, and how much work lay in the days, months, years ahead -- but those five boys, friendly but not best friends, each accompanied by a vastly different mindset and personality, who would never had come together like that if it weren't for their jobs, were finding it extremely hard to stay balanced on the swaying of the sea, and so: they'd hung onto each other. While the photographers snapped their cameras and the videographers shot their films, the five of them forced on smiles to cover their anxiety, and they'd all thought the same thing: thank God I'm not alone.

What was actually happening was that Arashi in name or not, the five of them began to depend on one another.

Together, the five of them were stronger and greater than any part of them alone, and though it would be a long while before the significance of that would lie with any profound understanding in any one of them, by the time they do notice, the bond between them will have already grown as unyielding as steel and as dazzling as gold.

It would carry them through, that love.

Someday far in the future, Aiba is counting on it.

~

It takes a total of nine weeks to get everything prepared to Aiba's specifications. Longer than he'd expected, because apparently his notes to the decorators and movers didn't really make a lot of sense when they weren't being read side by side, and also because his diagrams weren't to scale -- or to logic, really. By the time Aiba moves in, the water faucets are running smoothly, the walls are repainted fresh white, and the heating system is fixed to working order. Aiba relocates a good portion of stuff from his own apartment in downtown Tokyo to the house and makes camp in the master bedroom. There's a king-sized bed already there waiting for him, but he decides to hold off sleeping in it and sticks to the room's leather recliner. Just for now. He doesn't consider this place his home yet -- that'll take time. Luckily, his dogs and cat take to the new house instantly, if their happy piles of chewed cardboard and fur everywhere are any indication, and Aiba is delighted about that. His parrot Chunsan shrieks about mabo tofu in a spiritual chant, and Aiba takes that to mean he likes the change of scenery too. 

What it all amounts to is Aiba taking a final tour of his new address one afternoon in July, making careful note of the purposely empty spaces (intended use to be determined later, upon democratic vote) and the spaces that are instead filled with Aiba's eclectic array of furniture and electronics and photos (photos framed on practically every wall, from the very old, to the very new, from public to private: memories, each one), and approving of what he sees. 

He takes a moment, standing at the threshold of a new chapter of his life, to be very pleased with himself.

And the next morning, he is equally, if not more pleased, when he slaps down four identical keys with different coloured keychains onto the coffee table of Arashi's green room, and sings triumphantly, "Ta-dah!"

Four faces simultaneously peer down at his offered treasure.

"Keys," Nino states.

"New keys," Jun adds. "To your new place, I'm guessing?"

"They all look the same," Sho notices. "They're all the same? Aiba, you've made _four_ copies of the same key?"

"Five!" Aiba corrects, and takes his out of his pocket, dangling from his finger with a bright green lanyard. "But actually six because there's one for emergencies."

Everyone looks at him.

"Uh," Aiba stammers. He hadn't actually thought this particular part of his plan through very well. He'd always assumed that it would just -- happen. "They're for you," he explains feebly.

"Obviously," Jun says. "But why are you giving them to us?"

"Because I thought that you guys -- could... move in? With me?"

"Ah," says Jun, leaning back in his sofa. He stares at the keys on the table, but doesn't reach for them.

Aiba is suddenly reeling: what did he do wrong? Why isn't anyone taking the keys? Even Ohno, who Aiba had thought had seen through his plans from the very start, isn't making a move. 

He forces himself to break the thick silence. "What -- what's up? I thought you guys would be happy if we could live together. It's -- I decorated the house and everything -- well, most of it, not all of it, because I wanted your input too! There's a really fancy kitchen and I bought a 3D projector for the living room and I got Captain a new drawing easel and there's three empty bookcases in the study for -- for--" Aiba's throat clogs, Adam's apple bobbing uselessly like a baby chick without a mother. His words are stilted, softened with apprehension when he tries again: "It was a surprise. I thought you'd like it."

"What if," Nino's voice lashes out, like a whip, "I don't want to move? A little thought, Aiba. What if I'm happy where I am? The commute is easy and the convenience store is right under my building. The game shop is right around the corner. I don't get any sun in the mornings. What if I want to keep that?" 

Aiba physically recoils, taking a halting step backwards: his calf bumps into the couch that Sho is sitting on, whose newspapers are now frozen in his lap like a still frame. "I didn't think that--"

"No, you didn't think at all," Nino interrupts, eyes blazing. "You just wanted something and got hyped up on your own idea and didn't really consider what a huge thing it is you're doing without our consent. This isn't like us sharing a hotel room, or us staying at each other's apartment for the night, or even a week. _Living together?_ Why don't you just announce our relationship to the entire fucking world?"

"Nino, calm down," Jun says firmly. "Let Aiba talk, at least. Aiba, you've thought it through, right? I'm sure you don't mean for us to all just... grab our things and meet you by the seaside, something like that?"

"I," Aiba says, and stops. 

"God," Nino laughs once, but he sounds winded. "Isn't it amazing? Beyond even your usual idiocy, Aiba."

"Nino, shut the hell up," Sho practically snaps. In quick, jerky movements, he crosses the room and locks the door. "Accusing Aiba of announcing us to the world and you're the one shouting his lungs out to the entire _broadcasting building_."

Nino's jaw tightens and his fingers clench spastically at his sides, but he breathes out in one loud huff and falls back onto the loveseat, like a marionette with its strings cut.

Sho returns to his seat hesitantly, as if afraid he might startle Aiba into fleeing like a wild animal. "Aiba-chan," he says, "Do you want to tell us the meaning behind this?"

Aiba's heart thuds in sputters like a car engine on its last dregs of gas. 

"The meaning is," he manages, after taking in a gasp of air, "is that -- that I love you guys."

In dramas, a line like that has the uncanny ability to make everything fine and perfect again, like the very words were some sort of magical fix-it spell. There would be time-slowing hugs and possibly PG-rated kisses, and there would be forgiveness symbolized by piano music, and a fade to black, and a next scene would be the happy couple, five years later, with two children and not a single wrinkle on either of their beaming faces. 

Aiba doesn't get that here.

What Aiba gets is Sho's weary sigh, saying, "Aiba-chan," contritely, like he's disappointed but is trying massively to hide it. 

Aiba has never more wanted to undo something he made.

"We appreciate the gesture, Aiba, really," Jun is speaking up, and Aiba tries to listen beyond the dull roar of blood rushing in his ears, embarrassment and shame and grief pounding through his skull in equal measures, but he can't get much more from Jun other than the phrases, "needed to talk about this in advance," and, "a huge step into," and, "rumours spreading," and, "other issues," and, "romantic but impractical," and then Aiba stops listening at all.

When it becomes clear that the situation has become too dire to move away from, Sho looks desperately to Ohno. "Say something, Ohno-kun."

Aiba's gaze slides towards Ohno like an unwilling magnet. 

"I just," Ohno mumbles, obviously uncomfortable, "I thought it would be like a holiday house, Aiba-chan. Not permanent. That's -- yeah."

The last remaining bud in Aiba's field of hope lights on fire and burns to a crisp.

He sits down heavily, as if a mountain has suddenly come crashing onto his shoulders; he bends under the invisible weight, a lone reed exposed to a lashing gale, and puts his head in his hands.

From behind, one of Sho's sturdy arms wrap around his back.

"Sorry," he says, forehead on Aiba's shoulder. "We know you meant well, Aiba-chan."

~

Okay, so despite how easily Aiba cries while watching sad movies, war movies, or movies starring athletic animals, he's not actually that weak-hearted. Well, literally, he is, because of his medical condition, but figuratively, he isn't, and that's what counts. The aging process as a whole all but guarantees the hardening of an individual's spirit, and the entertainment industry in particular has the versatile ability to gift a person with a high percentage of astounding things, both very good and very bad; by living through all of them, Aiba knows that he's only gained strength, a thick, tough hide to bar against all manner of tough weather. So the unanimous rejection of his house of dreams? It hurts a hell of a lot, sure, but Aiba is not so insecure that he thinks it's a sign that Arashi doesn't love him. They've suffered more together in twenty years than most people do in their entire lifetimes and it's going to take more than a few of Nino's sharp-toothed comments and Jun's pitiless reasoning to convince Aiba that they aren't still head over heels for him, and always would be.

But oh God, did it sting. All that work! Worthless, shoved off their collective shoulders like a fleck of lint. Aiba actually wondered if he'd have to take the rest of the day off, not sure he could muster up even a hint of smile for the cameras, but he's nothing if not professional -- and yeah, twenty-some years of experience helped too.

For all his air-headedness and occasional (very occasional!) bouts of doing before thinking, Aiba is not actually dumb, like, _for real_. Being an idol for more than two decades can teach a person a thing or two or fifty, so it's not that Aiba never considered what the media's take would be if all five members of Arashi decided to jump ship and move in together.

He just hadn't really cared.

What Aiba had been thinking when he'd purchased the house was this: 

1) Arashi doesn't actually get to see each other that much anymore. It's maybe a pattern of twice a week, three times tops. Gone are the days when they were shipped off as a bundle for every other promotion like they were a litter of pups: buy one and get the set, not to be separated or they'll whine endlessly, etcetera. They're in their prime years now, which means fewer singles and slapdash talk shows, and more serious dramas and hosting gigs. That's the way of the business, Aiba knows that. But he misses the others when they're not with him, which, while a feeling that he's had ample chance to get habituate to, still has the tendency to nag at him if he lets it: like a miniscule scab at the centre of his back -- hard to reach, easy enough to ignore, but nevertheless, still there. Once it had been a vital concern to all five of them that they wouldn't spend too much time together, fearful that they would oversaturate from exposure, end up hating each other the way that countless other groups hated each other from being contained in close quarters for too long, but the worry had been short-lived. Whatever faulty way that Aiba had been wired to need those other four men in his life, they were all apparently the same. They could get sick of each other that morning and be back to cuddling obnoxiously on the couch by late afternoon. Whatever annoyance and resentment that is usually bred by seeing someone's face literally more than you see your own, it never lasts between then. They're a panoramic set of paintings: each capable of standing on its own beautifully, but when matched up side by side -- well. No contest. You don't get tired of art like that. 

So Aiba had thought it would be great if he could see his members more often, away from work. Catch up on their respective days without ending the conversation with, "Whoops, I've got to go, talk to you later.". Get to see the others' smiling faces on something other than a television screen; be able to touch them if Aiba wants.

And Aiba does want that. Very much. 

2) So shallow is as shallow does, but the fact of the matter is that Aiba likes sex and he will never say no to getting it, especially if it's readily available and being presented to him on a silver platter. Their current situation of hopping to and fro from each other's apartments is pretty much the celebrity equivalent of a nomadic-booty-call lifestyle, and while that's served them well and good so far, Aiba aches for the day when he can wake up to the morning sun and find himself unable to breathe in properly because he's so tightly squashed against four other bodies in the bed. They've actually very, very rarely gone to bed as five -- too much scheduling hassle, and messy besides. But Aiba is a greedy twelve-year-old and has never claimed otherwise, so he's all in favour of having _more_ , whether that pertains to loved ones, or frequency of lewd acts with said loved ones. 

The house would have been perfect for that, felling inconvenience and inaccessibility in one clean blow. 

Also Aiba is nothing if not imaginative: just thinking of all the fun that four people could have, out of earshot of nosy neighbours, is so tempting that it makes his toes curl, his pulse race. 

(And okay, fine, so _maybe_ Aiba harbours this wicked fantasy of seeing Sho in a frilly white apron and greeting Aiba with a "Welcome home, Aiba-chan!" when Aiba steps through the front door in the evening, but that's -- that would be extra. Not that Aiba actually expects it to happen, and not that Aiba would ever think of bribing Sho to do it, but -- well, without the house, there's no hope at all, is there?)

3) Call him a sentimental old fool, but Aiba, nearing the big four-zero milestone of his biological existence, has perfected the art of taking pleasure from the little things. To that end, he's had quite enough of _not_ seeing the messy spikes of Sho's bed head every morning, and not smelling the rich aroma of Jun's extra-extra-strong espresso pervading the kitchen as Aiba prepares snacks for all of them that day, and not being kissed hello by Ohno when Aiba slinks home after an exhausting day at work, and not being nagged by Nino to stop leaving his socks around everywhere, because someone is sure to slip and break something, be it body part or furniture. Wouldn't it just make life so much better if Aiba had that every day? Aiba thinks so. He can't believe the others didn't, and moreover, needed an _explanation_ for buying a house that could provide all those things. How could _anyone_ choose a combini and games over that? 

So, yeah, when Aiba had spilled out that verbal oatmeal about "I love you guys," with an appalling lack of finesse, that's what he meant. All of that: being there for each other mornings and evenings and times in between -- not having to contact other people to meet up and talk, and to have a definite place to just _go_ and know that the others would be waiting. A sanctuary, all their own. He just hadn't been able to put it into words. Too many feelings, and insufficient vocabulary to describe them. 

But the problem with a person like Ninomiya Kazunari is that he wouldn't get away with being so acerbic if he wasn't so damn right all the time. While Aiba could admit to giving some thought to repercussions that would follow if one day the not inconsiderable population of Japan woke up to the headline _ARASHI MEMBERS TO LIVE TOGETHER IN CHIBA HOUSE, RUMOURS OF WILD ORGIES_ , perhaps it's a bit true that Aiba, swept up so passionately in the magic of his fairy tale, didn't treat the matter with the gravity it deserved. It's certain enough that there would be no end to the controversy awaiting them if they were found out: five single, grown men bunking together for the indeterminate future. Their careers would be wrecked, the scandal would decimate their entire reputation in a matter of days. Japan as a country is liberal about the private lives of their citizens, but as celebrities, Arashi aren't afforded the same kind of freedom. 

What Aiba actually thought, though, which prompted his careless levity about the matter, is that they wouldn't really be found out.

His original plan, in all its muddled glory, was that they could all keep their own apartments in Tokyo, but bring a few bits and pieces of those apartments into the Chiba house, and maybe purchase a few extra things to fill up the new place so it, slowly but surely, changes from a building that someone else left behind to one that defines Arashi just as much as it supports them. It wouldn't be the holiday house that Ohno had been picturing, but if they aren't overly obvious about it, Aiba is sure they could be discreet enough. The area is relatively secluded, Arashi is no longer the paparazzi bait they'd once been in their golden era, and the focus on their individual love lives shifted years ago, onto the newer generations of knob-kneed Johnny protégés. None of them are exactly the housewife type, so Aiba had thought it would suit them just fine: stay in Tokyo for the work, as long as required, and when they need to relax, go home to Chiba. The keyword is home. Aiba is totally, completely, utterly fine with the others living some of the time in Tokyo, as long as their hearts lay with Aiba's, in Chiba. 

Marriage had never been in the cards for them, not really. They passed conventional marriage age without nary a glance backwards, and even though the threat of it hangs over their heads from time to time, Aiba knows it would take nothing short of a earth-shattering event to force any one of them to wed. Aside from the whole gay thing, Arashi had long-standing commitments first to their agency, second to their fans, and third, and most crucially, to each other. Short of starting up a polygamous convent and naming it something really catchy and punny, Aiba can think of no better way to cement Arashi's future as five than to share a residence. It could have been a real monument (literally) of their devotion to one other. Come hell or high water, drama-flopping or record-breaking, group or solo activities, that house would remain, and within its walls, Arashi could always have a place to belong. 

Anyway. 

All of that's a pipe dream now. None of the others had desire whatsoever to move, in any capacity. Chalk it up to another failed experiment, then; better luck next time. Aiba will nurse this failure with care, lick clean his wounds, then amble back to the drawing board for another go at getting his forever. 

~

It's two days later. They're waiting for filming to finish setting up for a new commercial about Pepsi's most recent Coke-counterfeit product. Aiba is tossing wads of tissue into a cup on the far side of the table, and Jun is frowning at his cell phone so severely Aiba would be worried if he didn't know that Jun's actually looking at the mirror-plated back of his phone. He'd been unreasonably obsessed with wrinkles the past few weeks.

Aiba throws again, the tissue bounces off the rim of the cup and dunks in. Aiba congratulates himself. That makes it 36 out, 4 in. Not too shabby. 

"So," Jun announces, out of the blue, like he's attempting to start a lecture in an auditorium full of students. "This house of yours."

A blade of trepidation spears Aiba's stomach like a javelin. 

"Yeah?"

"You're planning to keep it?"

"Yeah," Aiba shrugs. "I spent a lot of money on it. And most of my stuff is there now anyway, so..." he trails off and lobs another tissue. It misses.

"You like it?" Jun clears his throat. "I mean, you enjoy living there?"

"It's a nice place," Aiba says. "A bit too large for one person, but Chunsan and Pichan and Mochan and Holmes keep me company."

This is a bit of an understatement. Last night, Aiba had all but physically chained his dogs to his person in order for them to pay attention to him. The move is still a fresh thing for them: when offered the choice between a new backyard to play in and their boring old master, those crazy mutts had of course gone with the option that possessed the right consistency for digging and burying twigs in. 

The house, honestly, is beautiful, even though now it's a much more hollow beauty than Aiba had first pictured. There are too many cold corners and not enough warm nooks. Aiba takes advantage of the abundance of space to blast Arashi songs at max volume all hours of the night, but there's a lot of echo that ruins the timbre of the music. The day before he'd accidentally set off a minor fire in the kitchen and burned through his set of bamboo beer coasters, and since the low dining table is big enough to sit six people, Aiba hasn't bothered to toss them out yet -- they sit in a black-crusted lump, a miniature set charred dinosaur bones, beside this truly ugly vase that Aiba had bought from an antique store because he'd been sure Ohno would like it. 

And for whatever reason he doesn't care to analyze, Aiba's still sleeping in the bedroom's large, plush recliner, and not in the actual bed.

"I'm getting more used to it every day," says Aiba with forced optimism.

Jun's lips quirk like he's not sure if he should be displeased by something. "You... actually, you never gave us the address for it."

Aiba stares at him. "Oh," he says dumbly. "Sorry?"

"I mean," Jun tacks on, sounding a bit irritated. "You spent all this time hyping up this great house of yours, and then you never bring us over to see it? Kind of pointless."

"But, you, what?" Aiba is flabbergasted. "You guys weren't interested! You said you didn't want to move!"

"That's because I don't," Jun replies hastily. "But -- you put a lot of work into the place, so. I'd like to see it, at least. That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, no, sure, of course!" Aiba's already fumbling for his cell phone to text the address to Jun and the others. "Come whenever you want. Just give me a call to make sure I'm home first."

In Jun's hand, his cell buzzes with a new message. Jun flicks it open and nods.

"Thanks." His eyelids dip, he looks chagrined. "We should have arranged some kind of housewarming party for you," he says.

"That's totally okay!" Aiba reassures him. "It's -- not necessary. Really. But if you want, you can make it up to me by buying me a new set of bamboo coasters. Like, those super fancy hand-woven ones."

"Fine," Jun agrees. "I'll get you a case of beer to test them out too."

~

"How come you invited Jun-kun to your new place but not me?" Sho's voice, thinner from the phone due to the noise of traffic on his end, asks bluntly. 

"Because he -- where are you?" Aiba asks, but he's drowned out by an ear-splitting screeching sound from somewhere in Sho's vicinity. 

"Sorry, pardon, what? I can't hear you. I'm at the construction site of that new skyscraper. My cell phone is currently wedged between my hard hat and the side of my face." His voice abruptly increases in volume. "No, tell him I'll be ready in a second! Just get the cameras in place, please!"

"Sho-chan, go film your segment," Aiba admonishes. "You can call me later."

"Jun sent me a text bragging about how he's going over to your house tonight! It had a smiley face emoticon! And a mug of beer graphic!" 

An emoticon means a lot, especially for Jun, who proclaimed to have "grown out" of adding them in his text messages at age thirty-one. Aiba had no idea Jun was that excited about visiting.

Also, is Aiba in a group with a bunch of drunks? Or do Matsujun and Sho-chan have mood swing tendencies that Aiba has previously been unaware of?

"I don't get this at all," he moans. "You guys were all upset about the house! Why are you suddenly so into it?"

"Ah, about that--" Sho starts, and the grimace in his voice is unmistakable, although it might have been caused by the brutal explosion of jackhammering that bursts into the air. "Yes, I'm coming!" he calls, before saying hurriedly. "Aiba, I've got to let you go. Can I come over tonight too? Say, ten-ish?"

"Uh, no problem?" Aiba stutters. 

"Okay, fantastic! Work hard today. Bye." The line clicks quiet.

Aiba stares at the mobile in his hand, more than a little dumbfounded. He wonders if he should text Jun to bring more drinks.

~

There's no better way to pass the time than kissing Ohno Satoshi; Aiba's always thought so. Ohno, true to his "my pace" nature, kisses as if he has all the time in the world to indulge. Each curl of his tongue, each soft bite of his teeth are all done as languidly as the lapping of a summer pond, caressing the pebbles of the shore. There are times when Ohno can pull up from his well-contained reserves of energy and can kiss like a storm wrecking the beach, but usually, it's like this: his long fingers gentle around Aiba's neck, stroking along his jawbone in micrometres, while they share breath and allow the heat between them to slowly, slowly grow, like nursing a baby flame. Aiba could spend years lost in Ohno's mouth.

"Thank you for the food, Aiba-chan," Ohno murmurs, at last pulling away with a content sigh. 

"You're welcome, you're welcome," Aiba sings, and tries to chase Ohno's retreating lips. He's well on his way to being drunk; he's always been an Ohno-holic. 

Ohno laughs and lightly shoves him away, one hand still gripping the take-out box from Aiba's family restaurant. "You've got to go now."

"Do I?"

"Yeah." The corners of Ohno's eyes crinkle like foil candy wrappers. Aiba wants to lick them. "Didn't you say you're picking up Jun-kun from his apartment?"

"Oh yeah."

"Going for a night out?" Ohno asks.

"Nope," Aiba says. "Matsujun is coming over to see my new place. Sho-chan's coming over later too!"

"Hm."

"I added two things of dipping sauce," Aiba tells Ohno, tapping the styrofoam container. "And some extra spring rolls." He glances at his watch. "Maybe you should heat it up again before eating. Wow, how did it suddenly become eight? Okay, you're right, I have to go or Jun-kun's going to get mad at me for taking so long." 

Aiba turns to leave, but is startled to feel Ohno's hand grab his elbow. "Wait," Ohno says, shoves the take-out box into Aiba's arms, and disappears into his apartment. He emerges again less than a minute later, shrugging on his jacket. He then pulls on his shoes, and locks his door.

He reclaims his dinner. "Okay, ready."

Aiba grins and leads the way downstairs. 

~

"I must say, Aiba, I'm very impressed with the location," Sho says, as Aiba lets him into the house. "I know you said that it was quite private, but it really is. The park along the back is nice. Lots of trees."

"Yeah, and there are lots of weird flowers and mushrooms in there," Aiba says, taking the bag Sho proffers. He peeks inside. "Meat!" 

Sho laughs. "Yeah, I stopped by a specialty store before coming here. It's the best Kobe beef from the season."

Aiba's eyes are shining with anticipation already. "Thanks, Sho-chan!"

"Happy belated housewarming, I guess," Sho says modestly. "I think tradition dictates that I should have gotten you a toaster or microwave or something, but I thought you'd appreciate this more."

"You know me so well." Aiba leans forward to place a smacking kiss to Sho's cheek.

"Sho!" Jun's voice calls from the kitchen. "Come see Aiba's kitchen! I want you to guess what these utensils are for."

Sho groans, shooting Aiba a why-me look. "I just got here," he shouts back. "Can't the humiliation wait for a few minutes?"

"Come _here_."

In the kitchen, Jun has laid out the assortment of cooking tools that Aiba had purchased over a month ago but still bear their original price tags. Aiba had gone overboard with those, trying to anticipate what kind of tools Jun might prefer in the kitchen. He tried to remember how the small, tidy kitchen in Jun's own apartment had been stocked, but hadn't been able to conjure up much more than a spatula, garlic press, hand-juicer, and mortar/pestle set. It's because he's allowed into Jun's kitchen only when Jun is absolutely desperate for another pair of hands while he's cooking, so everything obviously winds down as Jun's fault. 

Jun holds out a long, thin-wired rectangular frame that holds a perfect steel circle in its centre, the size of a large pepperoni slice, also hollow. "What do you think this is?"

"I don't want to play this game," Sho mopes. "I'm here to see Aiba's place. Maybe have a few drinks."

"It's a corn kernel cutter for corn cobs," Jun explains, giving no indication he'd heard Sho's protests. He picks up a prong-adorned cylinder. "Guess this one."

Aiba leaves them to it and goes over to see what Ohno's drawing. Captain's stretched out on his stomach in the middle of Aiba's living room rug, pencil moving in broad strokes across a large scrap of cardboard Aiba had never bothered to throw away. There's actually a Leaning Tower of Cardboard Boxes in the study room, next to the 95% empty mahogany bookcases.

Aiba's dogs are fast asleep on the backs of Ohno's legs. Aiba's not sure Ohno has noticed. 

"Whale shark," Ohno says, just as Aiba's about to ask, "Is that a giant tuna?"

"Oh. Cool."

Ohno's cell phone is tucked in his back pocket of his pants and its screen starts to flash as the Super Mario ringtone suddenly plays. Ohno makes no motion to reach for it so Aiba leans down and plucks the phone out of Ohno's jeans. The ID screen reveals the caller's identity, although the music already gave it away. 

"Helloooo?" 

There's the briefest pause, then, "I should have known you'd kidnap Oh-chan!" Nino snaps at him.

"Oh yeah," Aiba says smugly. "It's roleplay. We're having all sorts of fun playing torture games. Chains and whips and handcuffs, you name it." 

"We were going to work on our new song tonight!" Nino whines, sounding just as perfectly sixteen as he did when he actually was that age. 

"Oh, were you?" Aiba nudges Ohno's butt with his foot. "Captain, you forgot you were composing with Nino today."

"Whoops," Ohno says, unconcerned, adding oval spots along the back of his shark. 

"He said whoops."

"Whoops? That lazy ass! I got my keyboard and drums rigged up to the internet and everything! I'll show him whoops!! Where are you right now?"

Never mind that rigging up his recording equipment must have taken all of thirty seconds, since both Nino's keyboard and drumset are black and white electronic mats. 

"You're just bitter that Oh-chan would rather hang out with me!" Aiba says. 

"It's because you're such a slut."

"Unfair! You're the one who likes to act all squirmy in bed. We could record you moaning and sell it to trashy porn studios. The _trashiest_."

"I'm going to cut you when I find you," Nino promises sweetly. 

"Then come find me," Aiba cajoles, smile too big for his face. "You've got my address."

Nino hangs up without another word and Aiba feels excitement flicker from the base of his spine, infusing heat up his body to flush his chest, his neck.

Looks like it's going to be an even better night than he'd thought.

~

Since Aiba is chronologically an adult and is thus capable of keeping his dick inside his pants for prolonged lengths of time, he actually does give a grand tour of his new abode when the whole gang is assembled, free of prongs, meat, pencils, and catty remarks. He leads them from room to room feeling like a museum curator -- here is the living room, notice the exceptional number of wall plugs; here is the staircase, isn't its symmetry beautiful; here is the second bathroom, where the Great Toe Stubbing Incident of Yesterday Morn occurred to national outcry -- feeling strangely self-conscious throughout the whole process. Although no one mentions it, Aiba's sure they've taken notice of the excess of space: a small desk to fill an entire office, a lone toothbrush in the toothbrush rack, half of the closet space in the master bedroom still devoid of clothes. 

Ah, the master bedroom. Aiba had saved that exhibit for last, as it's the most homey in the house. He's practically made it a mini-house between those four walls. In it is scattered vestiges of the lunch boxes he's devoured in the late night, haphazard piles of magazines and dog-eared manga, unmatched socks galore, a footrest that Aiba uses as a desk for his laptop, work scripts lying fanned around it like skirt. There are the most number of photos on these walls, polaroids aplenty, almost as if Aiba had tried to recreate their Ashita no Kioku music video, except ten times messier. 

"I'm surprised that you bother making the bed," Jun says, fingering the dark green blankets. (Aiba had considered a rainbow-stripe pattern, but then wrote that off because while he would appreciate the symbolism, his sense of style is not that of a elementary school student.)

"Yeah, well," Aiba says, and decides not to mention the fact that he's only ever made that bed once: when he was first laying it out. He takes a seat on it, as if to cement the illusion that he's totally comfortable there. Sho sits beside him and flops onto his back with a loud, obnoxious sigh.

"I'm just going to take a nap here, if that's all right with you guys," he says, curling his arms behind his head.

Jun swats Sho's flank and Sho yelps. "Don't you dare fall asleep. You've got to work the alcohol out of your system so you can drive me home."

It's on the tip of Aiba's tongue to offer that they all stay here -- there's even an extra bed in one of the other bedrooms -- but Nino cuts in too quickly.

"You couldn't be more obvious if you tried," he says, directing the comment to Jun, smirking.

Jun smirks back. "It's an honourable notion at heart, at least."

"I had no idea walking around a house got you hot and bothered."

"Neither did I," says Jun, with a glint in his eye. "I think it was that gorgeous kitchen that did it."

"The kitchen?" Aiba asks, not getting it. "You're attracted to my kitchen?" But then Jun walks over and straddles Aiba's lap. 

He says, primly, "Well, I'm attracted to something in this house," and starts to strip off his shirt.

"So fucking obvious," Nino tsks, and drags Ohno onto the bed. 

~

This is how Aiba's bed gets christened in the most amazing way possible: with an Arashi member smorgasbord. It's been a long time since they'd gotten to do this, and it's awkward at first -- too many elbows and mismatched knees, everyone too eager to be able to coordinate -- but then through the disorder Nino twines his legs around Aiba's waist and pulls Aiba in, and beside them Jun grabs Sho's wrists to keep him still while Jun lowers his hips, and then Ohno slots himself neatly into the minimal space between Sho and Nino, and that's it, it's a fit, and it's like they've been doing this all their life. By the time Aiba is allowed to sink into Nino's impossibly tight heat, Nino's eyes trained high to the ceiling like he's seeing God, Aiba's forgotten what it was like to be a singular entity. But good riddance to that wanting lifestyle, farewell and so long, what Aiba has here is everything he needs; here is heat and love and here is whole. 

Ohno's hand stroking himself is a direct link to Aiba's own pace, each snap of Aiba's hips coaxes moans from both Ohno and Nino, their entwined fingers clenching on Nino's leaking erection. The heavy pants coming in Sho's voice are pulled directly from Aiba's throat, and Jun's breathless laughter could just as well be coming from Nino's open, curved mouth. Aiba bends down to lick at it, to taste Nino's joy, and Ohno sighs into it, humming his pleasure, then murmuring, "Jun-kun," and Aiba hears Jun gasp. Sho groans, full-bodied and deep, and the vibrations echo throughout Aiba's own chest, which is full to bursting. This is a storm only Arashi can create and Aiba is caught in it, high on it, is gladly consumed by the assault. He can't last much longer, and his thrusts speed up to a frantic rhythm; Jun says, "Yes, good, like that," and it makes Nino whimper in agreement. Aiba's arm darts out over Ohno's head and Sho grabs it, squeezing spastically, and Sho chokes, "I, I'm, Jun--" and Ohno says, "Yeah, do it," and as Sho topples over the edge, Aiba can't help but follow, cresting inside Nino's body and squeezing his eyes closed so hard that nameless colours spark across his vision. 

Afterwards, recovering: his face buried in Nino's bony shoulder, Aiba feels someone's hand stroke tenderly at his nape, and someone breathes out in a scratchy-hoarse whisper, "Love you." It could be coming from anyone, could be meant for anyone, and that's because it's them, it's everyone there in that bed. 

Aiba thinks that even though no one decided to move in with him, meaning he basically wasted several million yen on this failed housing endeavour, it was all fucking worth it, just for that. 

~

So Sho works the alcohol out of his system, but everyone ends up staying the night anyway.

~

In the morning, Aiba wakes up in his new bed for the first time since he's moved in. Someone has drawn open the blinds and the sunlight feels wonderful on Aiba's face.

"It's kind of obscene, how pretty you are sometimes," says Nino's plaintive voice, and Aiba cracks open his eyes to grin at his friend. Nino's buried beneath the covers on Aiba's left side; only the top half of his face visible, but the quirk of his eyebrows tell Aiba that he's smiling. 

"What time is it? Where is everyone?" Aiba asks, stretching his limbs as far as he can. He feels sore and achy and _fantastic_.

"8:30, downstairs, washroom, left for work," Nino answers. "Guess who's who."

Aiba laughs and pulls himself out of bed. "Let's find out. Are you gonna shower?"

"Eventually."

"Breakfast?"

"Nah."

"Okay," Aiba says, leaning down to peck Nino on his ear. Nino gives out a muffled grunt and slides entirely under the blankets. Aiba tucks him in, pushing the thick cloth into the crooked outline of Nino's body, and leaves him to wallow at his leisure, probably set to do whatever magic he uses to replenish his energy in lieu of eating normal meals. 

The washroom is foggy with steam; Ohno's singing in the shower but readily gives up the soap when Aiba asks for it. It's honeysuckle and almond, which smells lovely, but Aiba had only bought it because the box it came in had a cartoon duck wearing a pirate hat. Aiba quickly scrubs his face and hands it back, sneaking a quick peek at naked, wet Ohno from behind the shower curtain. Ohno smiles good morning and pokes his head out temporarily for a honey-scented kiss. 

He's going to smell like Aiba's soap all day, Aiba realizes dizzily.

Downstairs, Aiba follows his nose. There's a plate full of crumbs and half a pot of coffee in the kitchen, evidently courtesy of Sho -- on Aiba's phone there had been a text message from him, apologizing for leaving early, but he's keen to finish up his news piece on the skyscraper while the construction site is still empty and quiet. Jun is dressed in yesterday's shirt plus a pair of Aiba's jeans and is making scrambled eggs at the stove; he spares Aiba a warm glance when he walks into the room.

"Sleep well?" he asks.

"Maaaaan," Aiba says, "did I ever. You?"

"Ohno's knee was jabbing into my crotch for half the night and Sho nearly suffocated me." 

"You don't fool me, you wardrobe snatcher. You probably slept like a baby."

"Not mutually exclusive. And I'm not snatching, I'll give them back to you." Jun piles eggs onto a plate and hands it to Aiba. "Go eat."

Aiba takes it and laps up a glob of egg with just his tongue. Jun wrinkles his nose and procures a pair of chopsticks out of nowhere, which he thrusts into Aiba's face. 

It's been less than twelve hours and already he seems to know Aiba's kitchen inside out. Aiba asks, "Can you cut up some fruit for Nino? He's skipping breakfast."

"You have one apple in your entire fridge." 

"Well then he can have that," Aiba says graciously.

When Ohno trudges into the kitchen a few minutes later, bleary-eyed and wet hair sticking up like porcupine quills, Aiba's eaten Nino's share of the eggs and is making a dent on his second serving. A night of vigorous sex always got his appetite up. 

Ohno accepts his plate of food and eats in grateful bites. "Jun-kun's eggs are the best, as expected."

"Thanks," says Jun, flushing a bit. "If you want more, just let me know. I don't have anywhere to be until eleven today."

"Okay."

Aiba thinks it's incredible, this dynamic between their youngest and oldest. How many years have they known each other and still Matsujun glows whenever Ohno compliments him directly. It must be a superpower, what Ohno has: all of Arashi are sickeningly adept at praising each other, but there's something unique about Ohno's sincerity, the simplicity and daydream-esque quality of his words, that makes his sentiments spark off joy like a bursting flare -- Jun is just the one who gets most visibly affected. It's terribly humbling. 

So Aiba watches Ohno dig into his breakfast and Jun sip at Sho's leftover coffee and he beams at them both. In his kitchen, in his house, the world feels like an long lost friend, discovered anew today. 

"What is it?" Jun says irritably, flicking his gaze over to Aiba. He hates smiling before his blood level is half composed of caffeine. 

That just makes Aiba grin harder. "This is nice, isn't it? It's really nice."

"Mm," Ohno agrees. 

"We should do it more often, I think. Like, as often as possible."

"Aiba," Jun warns.

"Every day!" Aiba expounds, heedless.

Jun's lips curl downwards.

"Maybe," he says, and Aiba feels himself deflate by small degrees. Oh yeah. They'd already gone over this. 

"I'm not -- I wasn't going to push _that_ ," Aiba amends quickly. "I was just -- being happy. I wasn't thinking about it like that."

Ohno's eyelids are low and trained carefully on his plate. 

"I mean, aren't you guys happy too? Last night was fun, wasn't it?"

Jun tilts his head, a smile edging the corners of his mouth. "It was."

"So, so..." Aiba flounders. How can he approach this without seeming too desperate? It's not as if Aiba's been nursing a false hope all this time. He's only confused. The thing is that they've already chosen, the others, that they didn't want to move in, but then they came over anyway and screwed Aiba six ways till Sunday and slept in Aiba's (their) bed and used Aiba's (their) soap and traded morning kisses and made coffee and eggs and it's just as perfect, even more so, than Aiba had dreamed, so _why--_

"So you want to be here, but don't want to live here. Is it because of something about me?" Aiba asks, quietly. The thought hasn't occurred to him before now, and the shock of it crushes his chest painfully.

Ohno's face snaps up. His eyes are dark, his brows deeply furrowed. "No. Not at all."

"Then what--"

"It's because it's something huge, Aiba!" Jun says, looking pinched. "Not even counting the risk of getting caught by the press. Moving in together is kind of like a huge and insane decision and it needs _thought_ to be put into it. Who knows, maybe it'd be something for us in the future, but you go and buy a fucking _house_ without consulting any of us, and just hand over the keys like they're souvenirs you got from the zoo, and expect us to move in, easy as that." 

"But -- it is easy, why wouldn't it be?" Aiba asks.

"Because we're all fully grown men used to our own way," Jun says flatly, and his gaze is evasive. "I'm not saying that won't get along -- of course we will, but living together all the time is different from hanging out together for long lengths of time."

"I know that," says Aiba. He knows Jun isn't trying to be patronizing, but Aiba had known from the get-go that it wouldn't be _all_ sunshine and rainbows. Just -- most of it.

Jun continues, "We're all very independent; it'll take a lot of hard work to be able to compromise in order to suit each other's needs. Not to mention that we all have wildly differing schedules so it's no guarantee that the house will allow us to see each other that much more anyway, so it might not add anything to our lives but unnecessary complication. You buying the house so spur of the moment was -- well, the decision should have involved our input, is what I think. I just -- it's not that it's a bad idea, and it's not that we don't want it, but--" Jun stops, sighing. 

"I was scared," Ohno says abruptly. 

Aiba turns to him, startled. "Scared? Of what?"

Ohno's slouching so far forward that his shrug seems like it might tip him off his chair. "I reacted in that way because... I liked what we had, just as it was. And moving around would change everything. And you came out with it so suddenly. I was really surprised."

"But wouldn't the changes be for the better?"

Ohno shrugs again, the movement as fluid as water. "When I first moved out of my parents' house, it was pretty hard. It wasn't me being too reliant on my mother or anything. It was just hard, because she used to always be there, and then she wasn't. Adjusting to that took time. But now I'm used to living alone so I thought it would to take an even bigger adjustment to live with you guys. It's not a matter of not wanting it. It was intimidating." 

"Oh."

"Actually," Jun says, voice purposefully light. "Me too. What Ohno-kun said."

"Oh," repeats Aiba. "Ah."

"Sorry."

"No! It's--" Aiba stumbles. "It's cool. I get it."

Silence. Aiba fiddles with his chopsticks, pushing around the last few scraps of eggs on his plate. He's not that hungry anymore. 

It makes sense, what they're saying. Maybe Aiba had rushed into things. Eyes too big for his stomach, heart too big for his house. He's always had that tendency, to feel an idea shimmering on the horizon and go charging at it with the entire cavalry of his being. He loses perspective sometimes about how his mentality differs so much from the others, because they've been together for so long he takes mutual understanding as a given. But sympathy doesn't always equal desire, and it's not fair to shove his needs at the others for his own greedy aspirations.

It's okay, Aiba thinks. It's not as if he's been abandoned here. Far from it. If last night was any indication, visits to Aiba's house could be a new pastime they could shamelessly indulge in, albeit infrequently. 

As if sharing his thoughts, Jun speaks: "I really -- last night _was_ good, though." He looks oddly conflicted about it. "Really good. I hadn't thought--" 

"Aiba, your dogs fell asleep on my clothes again and got slobber all over my underwear," Nino says, trudging into the room in Aiba's bathrobe. The Boston-Terrier-Dachshund-cyclone of Pichan and Mochan yip in circles at his feet, and from his right Aiba hears a quiet grunt of envy from Jun. For some reason, Aiba's dogs really, really love the smell of Nino (Aiba has a ridiculous yet brilliant theory about Nino's hamburger hands) and seem to have taken it as their canine duty to ruin, at the minimum, Nino's socks, every time Nino visits. Jun gets jealous sometimes, but there's a difference between animals liking you and animals thinking you are edible. ...Which reminds him. 

Aiba hefts himself out of his chair to prepare food for his pets. "I'll lend you some of my stuff," he tells Nino. "There's an apple in the fridge if you want it."

"Oh. Thanks." He takes a seat beside Ohno and scoots his chair closer until their shoulders touch. 

"Morning," Ohno murmurs, and presses a feather-light kiss to Nino's cheek. Nino steals a bite of egg off Ohno's plate. 

"Good," he says.

"More?" Jun asks, wary.

"Sure."

"A true miracle," mutters Jun sarcastically, rising to get make more eggs at the stove. "We should come here more often, if it means you'll actually eat like a regular human being."

"You should come here more often anyway," Aiba says, nudging Jun's hip with his own, and Jun hides his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for LJ's Help Japan fundraiser, for butabara_blokku, under her prompt of Arashi being in a relationship and buying a house together (that's the shoddily abridged version, courtesy of me). I put up this chapter on LJ, too, [here](http://primrosegallery.livejournal.com/10024.html), but because of its length, LJ's entry size limits and fickleness (I guess??), can't go back and edit the few typos here and there I found after I posted it. OTL Sorry everyone!! This version here on AO3 is the corrected version.


	2. Chapter 2

Another week, another block of ARASHIATIC! tapings. It's their second guest today, an actor turned politician named Kagura, and Aiba is flagging. It's not just the conversation topic that's tiring him (foreign policy and economy -- Sho-chan has completely dominated the last ten minutes); Aiba has been up since five am that morning for drama filming, followed by a solo photoshoot, followed by dance practise. A never ending day at the heels of a never ending week. It's closing in on nine pm now and all he can think about is going home and collapsing on the nearest horizontal surface. 

Something sharp jabs into Aiba's ribs.

"Ow," he hisses, his back jerking straight in reflex. There's a flash of wrist movement and Nino's marker disappears back up his sleeve.

"If you fall asleep I will call attention to it," Nino whispers, smiling serenely in the direction of the guest.

"I'm not falling asleep. I'm just tired. I want to stop being here." Aiba knows he's whining, but oh well. He's reached that point in the day when he is physically _itching_ to get out of work. Like, he will implode if he can't go soon. He will go into organ failure. Here lies Aiba Masaki, 1982 - 2020, death by fed-up-ness.

"Suck it up. One more hour."

In his chest is a sigh large enough to topple log cabins, but Aiba manfully withholds it. 

The hour passes, feeling like four, and finally, they get the okay from their director that it's a wrap. Aiba thanks everyone, bows a few times, and walks back to the changing room as quickly as his legs can carry him.

He's two steps away from the front door when Nino's voice calls him back. 

"Aiba! Can we come over tonight?"

We, he says, which turns out to mean him, Ohno, and an artillery of recording equipment and instruments. Gradually it's become too cramped in Nino's apartment for both Ohno and Nino to record at the same time, Ohno with the microphone and Nino at his slew of electronics. Before, they'd combat this by recording their parts alone and then splicing them together digitally, but now that Aiba has a huge house, Nino is leaping on his chance to actually have a private studio, spacious and neighbourless.

"What if I change my mind and kick you guys out?" Aiba complains, holding an armful of wires while Nino skims around him, plugging in a million and one jacks. "I was going to take the Rip Van Winkle of sleeps and now I can't." It annoys him because he knows Nino knows how exhausted he's feeling but came over anyway, citing the fact that it's rare that both he and Ohno have a free morning together, like they do tomorrow. And apparently if there's a free morning, the best way to take advantage of it is working through the night. 

"We could put on headphones," suggests Ohno, lugging in a guitar amp.

"And how do you propose you sing your parts if you're trying to be quiet?" Nino asks.

"Well, could you try to keep it down, at least?" implores Aiba, starting to lose his temper. "I can shut my door and put in ear plugs."

"Actually, I'd like your opinion on the song." 

Aiba groans. "Nooo!"

" _Yes_ ," says Nino. "Go brush your teeth and put in your curlers or whatever other primping you need to do. We'll call you when we're ready."

Aiba wants to refuse. He really does.

But Ohno and Nino have been working on this record for-fucking-ever and Aiba can count on two hands the number of times they've let other people listen to parts of it. It's not that they're paranoid of their music leaking -- or at least Ohno isn't -- but Nino, in all his music perfectionism, is really anal about not sharing a song until it's completely finished. Aiba thinks that they've fully completed three songs, maybe, out of the twenty or so that Nino wrote originally.

Twenty is a lot. But Nino's been writing them for just as many years. This project he's doing with Ohno means a great deal to him, Aiba knows. 

So Aiba doesn't refuse.

And when he's fluffily ensconced in his sleeping shorts and a light blanket, stretched comfortably across the living room couch, Aiba doesn't have any cause to regret his decision. Nino, that conceited little shit, had obviously planned for this exact situation. The song that he plucks out on his acoustic guitar is as slow and as soothing as a lullaby, their high, twinkling notes soon matched with Ohno's melodic voice, and together, it's as much a balm to Aiba's overtired soul as it is a treat for Aiba's ears. 

Ohno sings about how the world glitters after rainfall.

By the time he reaches the third chorus, Aiba's fast asleep.

~

Further confounding the whole "well basically we can only use your place to practise and yeah it has to be tonight going into tomorrow morning and no other time will work because we're busy otherwise, obvi" ruse, when Aiba leaves the next morning for drama filming, Nino and Ohno scuttle out after him like some two-headed Siamese zombie twin, complete with pale complexion, red eyes, and cracked dry lips. They really had stayed up the entire night recording; Aiba had slept through the entire thing. He'd been woken up by his cell phone's 6:25 alarm, had looked around blearily, wondering where the hell he was, and had seen Nino and Ohno collapsed on the adjacent loveseat, Nino sprawled on Ohno's snoring chest, and Aiba's dogs using Nino's feet as a headrest. The sight had made Aiba's chest ache in the best way and he'd sacrificed a few precious minutes from his usually-rushed morning routine to stare at the scene and snap a picture on his phone.

He sends the photo to Jun and Sho on the ride to work, and gets an immediate reply from Sho reading _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHEN WHERE HOW_ and a less immediate reply from Jun reading _what is it that's so attractive about nino's socks?_ and then another message from Sho that says _New wallpaper!! Thx Aiba._

The music equipment is left in a corner in Aiba's living room, ready for next time.

~

The week following, it's Aiba's turn to pay the favour forward. Sho-chan has been in the foulest mood all day, forcing his laughter on set, his sloping shoulders stiff with tension, and his eyebrows pulled low on his stone-set face. Bad news for Aiba, who doesn't like Sho being angry but can't help but find it’s kind of hot when he is. There's just so much contained power in Sakurai Sho, the brain, the brawn, the boulder, Sho-chan who touches babies with the grace of a deity. Aiba's palms get sweaty just thinking about being gripped tightly by Sho's capable hands, of being able to cling to Sho's lightly muscled back as he licks a stripe up Sho's neck, corded tight with passion.

When, while hurriedly prepping for a last-minute press video, Sho snaps at Nino to shut up and sit his ass down, Aiba is bombarded with so many dirty thoughts that he actually gets a bit dizzy.

Naturally, it's no chore to invite Sho over after work. If Nino can kill two birds with one stone by recording music and lulling Aiba to sleep, then Aiba can too, by getting Sho-chan to relax and get laid at the same time. 

"Ahh," sighs Sho, after he takes a long drag from the beer Aiba hands him. They're sitting on Aiba's couch, just lounging, and while Sho had loosened up some when they entered Aiba's house, his posture is still made up of hard planes and taut wires. His fingers are circled around the neck of the bottle like a vice.

"That bad a day, huh?" Aiba quips lamely. 

Sho chuckles dryly. "It's nothing. I'm just a bit strained, that's all."

Strained, in Sho's dictionary, is synonymous with "under enough stress to collapse lesser men." Aiba knows Sho's been busy lately. With the news segment on the new Yuuyake Skyscraper finished, he's been suddenly tagged with a million other projects at once: a new drama with Korean co-stars, a new MC job at a national science and arts awards show, a _documentary_ about the skyscraper -- Aiba doesn't envy him. Arashi knows how to be busy, but only Sho can be busy with work that requires studying.

"You should take a load off," suggests Aiba, swinging his legs onto the couch and worming his feet into Sho's lap. 

Sho shakes his head, but lays a conciliatory hand on Aiba's bare ankle. "It's not because of work. Well, sorry, not _just_ work."

That catches Aiba's attention. Something else is wrong?

Before he can voice his question, Sho hurries to say, "I can't tell you."

"Why not!"

Sho winces. "I -- promised I wouldn't."

Aiba considers that for a second. "It's something to do with Matsujun?"

"I didn't say that!" Sho says, balking. "How did you figure that out?"

"Come on, Sho-chan. Who else could it be? Oh-chan isn't the type to demand those kinds of things and Nino would either tell all of us or no one. Or maybe just Oh-chan? I guess it would depend on the type of secret."

"It's not a _secret_ ," Sho says with vague distaste. "We're not students passing vulgar notes around behind a teacher's back. It's just -- Jun had a question about something and knew I had experience with it, so he came around last night and we talked. And he didn't want any of you guys to worry, so he told me not to mention it. Except I have now." Sho frowns hugely.

"Don't worry about it. My lips are sealed. Can I ask what you talked about?"

Sho twists the beer bottle in his hand, spinning it around and around. His eyes are on the bottle, but his focus is distant.

He says, "It was about marriage."

Aiba's feet slide off the couch and land on the floor with two dull thumps.

"Oh," he says.

Sho rubs his eyes closed. "Yeah."

~

It's not a topic they broach often. Usually, it only comes up in interviews. Who is your ideal wife, how do you picture your wedding, other uninspired questions in that vein. As Johnny's idols, the very idea of marriage hadn't even been feasible to them until a few years ago. For Aiba, it's always been a concept that he carelessly tossed aside, a half-smeared note in a to-do list marked "ah, maybe one day." But in his heart, he knows that day would never come -- he has Arashi. And Aiba knows the other members feel more or less the same way -- a muted resignation for things that would never be. It doesn't detract from their appreciation for what they have, but nonetheless could become a sore spot if incessantly prodded.

Sho keeps his promise and doesn't let out another peep about what he and Jun discussed, but Aiba can guess. It's not that hard.

Sho and Jun have the most conservative families out of them, and Jun's older sister had recently gotten remarried. 

His parents must be pushing Jun to find a partner, too.

This is nothing new. Not to Jun, or Aiba, or even to Nino, whose mother believes in the constitution of marriage only a smidgen more than her cynical son. The subject comes every now and again, like a season. Spring, when a young man's fancy turns to love, and if not, the young man's parents will remind him. 

Of course Arashi's parents know about their mutual love for each other. The whole world knows, to some extent. But they don't quite understand; they don't take it seriously. Either they don't see the true scope of that love, or they believe the phase will pass, or they think it's just a consequence of their situation – the five of them, stranded on their own island, unrivalled in the vast ocean of the world. Who else would they have time for, after all? They hold out the hope that there will be a steady, respectful, appropriate relationship in the distance, and their children need only a little encouragement to run for it. Nino's and Ohno's parents, at least, the former too permissive and the latter too doting, have hopes that they'll settle down together, in some manner of propriety. But when you add three more men to the equation, things are a little more complicated, harder to deal with. Sho's and Jun's parents, Sho's especially, are still nursing the expectation for a beautiful bride who will compliment their beautiful son. Aiba's mother is still waiting for more grandchildren to accompany Aiba’s brother’s little girl; Aiba hasn't the heart to tell her to solicit Yusuke about that, not him. If she knew the truth, Aiba has no doubt she would try her best to support him, for him to be happy, but he also has no doubt that she would be disappointed.

Every relationship has its sacrifices.

Maybe this is why Sho doesn't want to live here. He's still holding out for -- for something. 

Sho touches him fervently that night. Aiba had wanted to feel Sho's passion and now he is, but not in the way that he'd anticipated. Sho's touching Aiba like he has something to prove. His hands are greedy; they drag across Aiba's body with abandon and no little bit of roughness. He kisses Aiba all over, sucks Aiba's breath away; maybe he's trying to soak up Aiba's essence, maybe he's using Aiba as an escape. He's the one pushing Aiba's back to the bed and he's the one moaning like he can't get enough. Trying to lose his fears of a potential future, and anchor himself to the present. Aiba wouldn't be surprised if Sho's also wading through a murky river of filial responsibility, trying to make it to the shore without getting swept up in the current. 

The slide of his cock inside Aiba is excruciatingly slow, agonizingly good.

"There?" Sho huffs, his lips nipping at Aiba's collar bone. His hips pull away, push back in, a direct lightning bolt to Aiba's heart.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Aiba pants, trying to keep air moving through his lungs. His nose tingles; he kind of feels like crying. His heart aches, even though by no means is this Sho saying goodbye. If anything, this is Sho saying hello, repeating hello -- Aiba can't read Sho's thoughts, but Sho's message is clear from his touch: I love you, I love you, I am here. Aiba does his best to relay it back.

"This is--" Sho whispers, his voice rough around a grunt. 

"Yeah."

"I'm not--"

"It's okay, Sho-chan," Aiba reassures him, and cups his hands around Sho's sharp-jawed face, iridescent with perspiration. "I know."

Sho squeezes his eyes shut with a wrecked moan and comes, shuddering in Aiba's arms.

Aiba holds him tightly, wrapping up Sho with his entire body, and wishes that everything was as simple as this, right here, loving each other with tongues and skin. 

He knows Jun would never leave them, just like Sho would never leave them. But it's not as easy as just saying it and making it so. There is a bed they have created, and now they must lie in it. It's the difference between Cinderella, who left her abusive family behind her for a happily ever in a sparkling castle, and the Little Mermaid, who had to lose her fins forever in order to walk on land with her prince. Sho-chan had always wanted to have children. That hasn't changed, even now. For one dream, Sho must give up another. And that's not fair, even though Aiba is ultimately okay with it, even though Aiba is sorry, because Aiba is so selfish. He would rather have Sho with him. 

Maybe Aiba should say, instead: Jun would never want to leave, Sho would never want to leave. But those kinds of thoughts hurt, majorly hurt, so Aiba doesn't indulge. Can’t. 

When Sho heaves himself downwards and spreads kisses down Aiba's chest, down the dip between his legs, and swallows down Aiba's entire cock to the base, Aiba slaps a hand on his mouth to keep down his sob, and readily lets the pleasure wash his mind blank.

In the languid minutes after orgasm, Sho's solid body is a comforting weight, his heaving chest matching counterpart to Aiba's. Things are quieter here, so unlike the constant hustle and bustle of Tokyo's metropolitan centre. Aiba can imagine himself able to hear his own heartbeat, drumming in a proud echo to Sho's. There is an owl that lives in the trees that border Aiba's backyard, and it hoots mournfully into the night, calling for a mate, singing away his loneliness. In the muted dark of Aiba's bedroom, his walls slathered with photos, the world awash with the monochrome of twilight, it feels as if their troubles are six degrees away -- detached and surreal, like a far-off deadline that you never want to meet.

Aiba is absently struck with a desire that Jun be here too. He wants to feel Jun's skin, the heat in Jun's mouth, map the onion-skin landscape of Jun's chest and ribs. The curlicue edges of Jun's lips are ridiculous and Aiba wants to remind himself how they taste.

Sho lifts himself off Aiba and rolls onto his back with a sigh. He says, "You know, I really do like it here."

"Oh yeah?" Aiba grins, turning to nestle himself in Sho's side. "The company is great, isn't it?"

"Definitely no complaints from my end," Sho laughs. "But I also meant this house in general. I feel like -- things are okay here. I think it's because we're farther away from downtown Tokyo. It's almost a shielding atmosphere. You can't feel the immediate pressures from the outside world, and any worries seem less worrisome. I must admit it's calming. And energizing at the same time," he adds, casting a significant look over Aiba's body.

Aiba smirks. "That's because my house is the best. I mean, it's got me in it. How perfect is that!"

Sho laughs again, but doesn't disagree. 

~

The headline reads, _Arashi's Matsumoto Jun (36) in new relationship with mystery female! Couple caught on restaurant date!_

The rumours say that it's Matsushima Nanako, Ayase Haruka, maybe Aragaki Yui; it’s hard to pinpoint an identity from the grainy, shadow-strewn pictures. 

In the two paparazzi photos, snapped when the couple had just exited a Malaysian-themed restaurant, the woman is walking with her head lowered, her wide-brimmed hat pulled down over her face. She has long, straight hair, gorgeous legs, and Jun's arm fits perfectly around her slim shoulders, like they’re a sculpted set.

"She's my cousin," Jun tells them, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"How come we've never met her?" Nino demands, tossing down his tabloid magazine with a huff. 

"She studies abroad in France. She was only in town for two days for the fashion show. Also, why do you care?"

"I like her bag," says Nino sullenly.

Her bag is truly a post-modernism feat: it looks more like a crumpled grocery bag than a top-of-the-line haute couture purse. Figures that Nino would want it. 

"This is a big deal?" Ohno asks, picking up Nino's discarded magazine. "Is Jun-kun planning to talk about it during an interview?"

" _No_ , I'm not," Jun says vehemently. "You know I like to keep my private life private. The media can speculate all they want, I don't give a shit. It's just annoying, having to deal with it at all. You think they'd tire of picking at the same target for a million years."

"Well, maybe they would if you'd get hitched already." Nino's smile is sharp.

Jun stills. "That's not even remotely funny."

"It's the truth."

"Nino," Sho says firmly. "You're not helping."

Nino sucks his lips in. "Sorry. Jun-pon getting pissy gets me worked up too. His bad temper is contagious."

"I'm not getting pissy," Jun says indignantly. 

"You insulted my hair, my shoes, and the state of my nails this morning! Within the same breath!"

Jun crosses his arms. "They're all in horrible condition, that's why." He doesn't apologize, but his face sours. 

Nino shrugs. "Like I'm bothered. You're always like this whenever there's a girl rumour. Learn to ignore it already."

"I am ignoring it. Sorry if I'm not as _cool_ about it as you are. Some of us actually pay attention to how the public looks at them. Because that's part of the job, in case you forgot. You hardly ever get gossip like this attached to your name so it's no wonder you don't know how unbelievably frustrating it can become."

"I don't know if that was meant to be a backhanded compliment or an insult, but I feel insulted," says Nino.

Jun sneers. "Good." He stalks out of the green room.

As soon as the door snicks shut, Sho whirls on Nino. "Why do you always have to push him like that, Nino?"

Nino stretches lengthwise across the sofa he's occupying and stares placidly at the ceiling. "Why's he always got to be so bitchy whenever some dumb reporter links him with a girl? It's going to pass. He knows that. So what does it matter?"

Sho looks like he could happily strangle Nino with his bare hands. "It _matters_ because during the time before the rumours pass, the press constantly hounds Jun for the truth about the reports. Every interview that he has from now until whenever is going to mention this."

Nino sits up. "He can say no comment, or tell them to fuck off and mind their own business. Or why not just, I don't know, tell them that she's his cousin? I'm pretty sure that'll squash any marriage rumours faster than Oh-chan can catch a fly."

"I can't do that," adds Ohno.

"It isn't the point that she's his cousin," Sho emphasizes, slapping the newspaper in his hand, folded out on entertainment section, page 2A. "It's that you were right: those rumours wouldn't exist in the first place if he were already in a steady relationship. But he _is_ in one."

Yes he is, thinks Aiba. They all are. And they can never say so.

"All these news articles do," Sho says, shaking together the sheets of his paper with a sombre finality, "is show us that we're never really free from the expectations of the audience."

Nino says nothing, but his eyes train carefully on Sho's face, and eventually, he turns, and tucks himself into the inside corners of the couch. "Don't think I haven't realized that," he mutters, which may or may not be a lie.

Aiba meets Ohno's gaze, wondering if Ohno's expression of weary helplessness was also mirrored in his own. There's nothing to say, really. There's not even anything they can do, other than wait it out. Aside from the situation being completely out of their hands, Jun can take care of himself with these issues. He hates it, so do all of them, but Jun is a Johnny's idol. He knows how to be professional and doesn't need to be hand-held through this. 

Aiba invites Jun over that night anyway.

~

"If this is some kind of pity party, Aiba, I swear--"

"Can you get over yourself already?" Aiba says, exasperated beyond measure. "What kind of pity party involves fake feathers and glitter glue?" He twiddles his fingers at a spool of bright green yarn lying on the ground and Jun picks it up for him, throwing it to Aiba's waiting palm.

"Sounds exactly like your style, actually," Jun says dryly.

Aiba giggles. "Hah, well, then you caught me. I only invited you here to cheer you up from your existential marriage-less funk, and not at all because I need someone to call the ambulance in case this thing doesn't work out, which it _will_." He holds up his makeshift wing to his left arm. "How's that look? Awesome or what?"

"That's not the adjective I would use, but I can't say I'm an expert opinion on homemade craft-supply wings."

"You should do something about that!"

"I don't think I'm the one with the problem here," says Jun, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Aiba fastening his finished wing to his knapsack-based harness.

"Do you know that all famous inventors get criticism like that, when they first start out?"

"You're a famous inventor now? Just because you want to slide down your spiral staircase to see if your preschool project wings will reduce your speed?"

Aiba grins. "I was going to jump off the roof, but I thought maybe I should work my way up to that."

"I guess I should be thankful for any tiny amount of pragmatism you show."

"That's the spirit! Now help me attach this thing to my arm. Look, I used velcro straps! Pretty clever, huh."

Jun sighs.

~

"4.51 seconds."

"What!" Aiba exclaims, tugging the stopwatch from Jun's hand. "That can't be right."

"It is."

"But I took 4.37 seconds _with_ the wings on! How can it take _longer_ without them there causing air resistance?"

Jun shakes his head. "You're the genius inventor here, not me."

Aiba frowns at his stopwatch. "Maybe you're not timing it correctly. Can you spot me from the first floor instead?"

"It's not going to make a difference. You're counting down, and I'm pressing the button when you say go. How is where I'm standing a factor in that?"

Aiba bristles. "I don't know, Matsujun! We just have to try different variables, okay? Haven't you ever heard of the scientific process?"

"Have you?" Jun retorts, and heads downstairs. 

When Jun is properly stationed at the foot of the stairs, Aiba sits down on the wooden railing from the second floor and lifts up his right foot, keeping the toes of his left foot on the floor to keep him from slipping.

"Ready?" he calls.

"Go for it."

"Okay! 3, 2, 1, go!" 

In retrospect, it wasn't very good scientific procedure for Aiba to push off the ground with his left foot to give himself a slight acceleration. In the other trials, it was just Aiba lifting his foot off the ground and letting gravity doing the rest of the work. But maybe he had gotten incensed by the contrary results, and his body reacted unconsciously to make a wingless slide _faster_ than a wing-full one. 

Also, he may've pushed with more force than was strictly safe.

All Aiba knows is that one second he's sliding really fast down the banister, and then there's a flash of Jun's shocked face, and then there's a loud thud, and full-body pain.

"Holy crap Jun!" Aiba cries, flailing. "Sorry, wow, sorry! I didn't mean to crash into you, geez. Sorry, are you okay?"

He pushes himself off Jun, who is knocked out flat on the ground, hair a mess, and wears the expression of a particularly angry pitbull. There are a multitude of bright green feathers caught in his sweater.

Aiba swallows. "Uh, thanks for breaking my fall?"

Jun takes a deep breath.

And starts laughing.

Aiba says again, "Um," but Jun just laughs harder. 

The last time something like this happened, Jun was two days shy of a world record in sleep deprivation, and the slightest bit of anything was enough to set him off. Sho's concerned mothering sent him into giggles, then Ohno's reacting giggles amped Jun into convulsions. Nino loved it; Aiba remembers finding it morbidly fascinating too -- he'd never seen Matsujun _high on life_ before. But then Jun's hysterics had peaked and plummeted in a landslide; he spent the remainder of the day trying to kill all of them with the power of his glare, as if they personally were to blame for every second of his migraine. He was so venomous he almost made Aiba cry. 

So it comes as a surprise now when Jun reaches up and cradles Aiba's face with a tastefully-adorned hand. Aiba would jerk away but for the strangely contented curve Jun's mouth is now calming into. 

"Thanks," he says simply.

"For what?" Aiba asks.

Jun's eyelashes dip, uncharacteristically bashful for half a second. "Just. You bringing me here. I feel better. You being stupid is never not hilarious." 

"I think you're trying to mock me but let me remind you once again that I'm a very mature adult."

"How mature?" Jun asks.

"Pretty mature."

Aiba gasps as Jun grabs his arms, pulls him back on top of Jun's body, and rolls his hips up into Aiba's in one smooth, languid arc. "That mature?" He laughs, seeing Aiba's expression. 

"Here?" Aiba gapes. "On the floor?!"

"Relax, I'm just messing with you." Jun relaxes, still holding a curlicue of a smile.

"Not that I'm against it! But -- upstairs?"

Jun laughs. "Maybe later," he allows, and for all intents and purposes, seems to be perfectly content lying on the cold, hardwood floor, supporting the weight of another person. His grin fades in increments, like a sunset. "It's nice to do this," he says. "Get the stress of the day out by acting like idiots."

"Hey," Aiba protests.

"You're a 37-year-old trying to make a viable pair of wings out of craft supplies. You're an idiot."

"Well, that's an insult to you too, since you're in love with me!"

Jun kisses him swiftly, at the side of Aiba's mouth. As if he was a lovestruck girl, bravely confessing her affections for the first time. "Seems that way," he says. 

Something very large and warm barrels through Aiba at that, leaving his insides a wrecked mush in its wake. Suddenly it is imperative that they have no clothes separating the two of them, that they be skin to skin and heart to heart, so Aiba can empty his tsunami emotions in a willing vessel before he overflows and goes mad from it. 

Jun's designer pants are gently pulled down, his designer underwear is carefully peeled off, his cock is stroked reverently until it rests, curved and hard, in Aiba's appreciative hand. Aiba has done this so many times before, but he will never get tired of it, never, this access that Jun grants him. Jun's impatient with so many things, but with Aiba, like this, he always lets Aiba take his fill of whatever he wants, lets Aiba gorge himself on Jun's beauty, inside and out. The world could crumble to ashes around them and still Aiba would be caught like a seeking moth in the dark heat of Jun's eyes. 

Today is different, somehow. Maybe the stress of the dating rumours affected Jun more than he let on, maybe it's a mysterious accumulation of other factors, maybe it's a spell woven through the sea-scented air of Chiba, but Jun is utterly silent the whole way through today, watching every move Aiba makes with an intensity that should be scary and maybe is, a little, but Aiba's not complaining. Aiba _aches_ with desire, taking Jun's passivity to his advantage, needing to show Jun just how much it means to him that Jun loves him. 

He kisses Jun's cock until Jun's breath is hitching unabashedly, long, capable fingers tangling in Aiba's hair. He kisses Jun's mouth until Jun is panting, shoving his hips up to grind against Aiba's erection, still caught in the cloth prison of Aiba's clothes. He kisses Jun's eyes, his cheeks, his jaw, his left ear; stays there, in the nook of Jun's neck, whispering stupid promises, as he strokes Jun to completion. The way that Jun hashes out Aiba's name, a noise from the very depths of Jun's chest, is a validation of Aiba's entire existence.

He drapes himself over Jun's body as Jun tries to catch his breath, Aiba's face pressed to Jun's chest.

"That's something that I wouldn't mind having every day," Jun says, hand soft in Aiba's hair, heartbeat strong under Aiba's cheek.

"You--" Aiba starts, but thinks better of it. Instead, he gets to his feet and walks to the front corridor of the house, where he's tossed his day bag. He rummages inside it for a second, two. 

"Aiba." 

Jun's pushed himself onto his elbows when Aiba returns; his expression is mildly curious, but there's no anxiety at all. He looks beautiful, dishevelled, _at home_. Aiba crouches down, drops a kiss onto Jun's upturned lips. Jun tries to deepen the kiss, but Aiba leans back, holding out his hand. 

Jun looks at Aiba's gift.

"Ah," he says.

"You could, right?" Aiba asks, and hates himself a little for how shaky he sounds. He's nervous; he doesn't want to be, but he is. "You could have it every day."

"You kept them," Jun says, not really a question.

Aiba struggles with an urge to close his fingers and hide away. "I made them for you guys. They'll always be yours."

Jun stares for a while longer, long enough that worms start squirming in Aiba's stomach, but Aiba forces himself to be still, be patient, reminding himself that he won't be so hasty this time. He won't scare anyone with the force of his love.

Even though he does love Jun, so much.

But it's perfect, it's right thing to do, because a thousand hundred million seconds later, Jun smiles, just a little, and picks up the key waiting on Aiba's palm; and Aiba remembers how to breathe.

~

They've migrated to the living room and are simply lying there in silence, Jun mulling about serious and probably melodramatic things on the couch and Aiba basking in quiet joy on the loveseat, when Jun's cell phone buzzes. 

"Should I pick up?" he asks. "It's Nino."

"You should pick up," Aiba says. "He won't leave you alone until you do."

With a heavy sigh, Jun pulls his phone out of his pocket and presses the call button. "What is it?" he snaps. There's a pause. "No." Another one. "No." A longer one. "Good for him." Then, finally, "I'm at Aiba's. If you really want to apologize, do it in person." And he hangs up.

"Soooo what's happening?" Aiba wheedles.

Jun pushes himself more firmly into Aiba's couch cushions. "That guy is such a pain. Apparently Sho-kun 'talked to him'. Yelled at him, more like. He wanted to apologize."

"Good! That's great! He should apologize."

"He should, yes, but I don't really care. I'm not angry at him."

"Oh. You're not?"

Jun's legs stretch out to the armrest of the couch. "He was just projecting, that moron."

"Projecti-- huh? Nino's got a girlfriend rumour, too?"

"Not _that_." Jun makes an exasperated _Aiba, keep up_ kind of noise. "About getting hitched. He's in denial."

"What? About what?"

"Change." He's got his key held up in his fingers and is examining it critically, as if gauging for flaws. "Sometimes you just have to go for it."

~

As far back as Aiba can recall, Nino had always been a firm believer in the Time Changes, But Not Me theory of living, more basely recognized as the cliché, If It Ain't Broke, Why Fix It? When Aiba met Nino at the glamorous age of fourteen, Nino, then one year younger and ten years more arrogant, already possessed much of the stellar, discordant personality that, as an adult, would shape his world view just as much as it shaped how the world viewed him. Wit and talent he had, along with a respectable amount of charisma for someone so mousey and flippant. What measure of ability he owned though, was unfortunately matched with an equal amount of indifference that could be labelled as satisfaction some days, laziness others. Aiba grew up with Nino, has known him longest out of all the Arashi members, and can't exactly admit that this type of outlook hasn't served Nino well in life. It was, regardless, what Nino preferred. Nino didn't do change, didn't aspire to change; he accepted it if it came, but didn't expect it to come. He could almost be mistaken for being zen, if he weren't such a fucking prick sometimes. 

It took a while -- many years, in fact -- for Aiba to realize that Nino had notable limits. He was like Silly Putty or plasticine. He could stretch and stretch and stretch and cheerfully take another shape -- at the end of the day, he'd still be himself, still able to mold comfortably back in his old casing with the littlest of effort. Pull him too hard too fast, though, and he would snap. Big changes, big personal changes: these Nino couldn't handle, and rarely did. 

The chaotic breakdown of his parents' marriage had left a long, lasting impression on their youngest child; parts of Nino's heart had been permanently chipped away decades before he'd even offered the remaining bits, the best he could muster, to Aiba, at the ripe old age of thirty-one.

Aiba hadn't found Nino wanting, though. He couldn't. How could anyone? Nino could be as embittered as he pleased, but he still believed in love, and Aiba couldn't imagine him any different.

All of this is what speeds through Aiba's mind when Nino finally shows up at his door, face a storm, and demands to see Jun.

"Why did he have to drag me out here? It took a whole hour to drive!" 

"He made a really nice dinner for me, but there's too many leftovers," says Aiba.

"Bullshit," Nino says, and makes a show of stomping off his shoes.

"He's still mad at you," Aiba admits, which is a lie, but one close enough to the truth that Nino believes it.

Nino grimaces. "I showed up, didn't I? Where is he?"

"I'm right here," answers Jun, striding out of the kitchen, where he actually had been preparing food -- if only for Aiba's pets. He walks towards them and stands before Nino, arms crossed.

Nino scowls. 

Jun waits.

"Oh my God, are you serious," Nino cries, slapping both hands to his cheeks in frustration. "I already apologized over the phone! And plus, I don't recall _you_ being the one who got his entire mind, body and soul insulted to a pulp."

"This isn't even about that, and you know it," Jun says sharply. "This is about that conversation we had last week."

Last week, as Jun had told Aiba, he and Nino had a long talk about why they thought moving in with Aiba would be the worst decision ever. There had been alcohol involved, and by the end of the night, Nino was holding back Jun's hair as Jun puked in the toilet and it was then that Nino had sniped that if living with Aiba wasn't the worst decision ever, then living with Jun sure as hell would be. Toss in Ohno and Sho, and it was pretty much a recipe for disaster. 

After Jun had puked out enough of his stomach to notice that the churning, boiling feeling deep in the pit of his gut wasn't alcohol poisoning, but rather an incredible, unfathomable, swell of rage at Nino's opinion, naturally, he expressed his offense. How could it be _that_ bad to live with the four of them? None of them were serial murderers or child molesters or people who wore sandals with socks (not anymore, no thanks to the Juniors' style department), and they actually all got along. How did Nino get off, being so pessimistic? It wouldn't be bad at all. It could even be great. 

This kind of revelation, made while staring at the murky orange cesspool of his own puke and toilet water, had slammed the immediate truth into Jun: he and Nino were pulling a Queen Gertrude -- doth protesting too much. Way, way, too much. 

Jun had already admitted that sincerely considering the implications of Aiba's house scared him, but Nino, caught in a cage of his own unnamed anxieties, hadn't worked up to that level yet. When Jun confronted him about it, he reacted predictably, with vitriol, indignation, and diversion. He couldn't dump Jun home fast enough. And then he avoided Jun's calls the next day. And then when Jun gave up and let the matter drop, the scandal about Jun's lady company broke out, and Nino had been front row centre, ready with his own special brand of hard truth. 

"It's not fair that he should get to talk straight like that to me, but can't deal when I speak like that to him," Jun had said, before asking if he could look through Aiba's bag. Aiba had wondered what Jun had hoped to accomplish, bringing Nino out this far -- not just from the city, but out of his comfort zone. 

"You call that a conversation?" Nino accuses. "There was plenty of stuff coming out of your mouth, but they weren't words."

"Don't be crude."

"I'm sorry I let you ruin my scarf with your vomit. There, happy?"

"You know I'm not."

Nino expels a breath that rattles his entire frame. "That night. You were oversimplifying things," he bites out.

Jun's eyes narrow. "How so."

"Because!" Nino's arms jerk, an aborted gesture. "Because you had your epiphany on the floor of a men's room, that's why! You said I was protesting too much and started quoting Shakespeare and I wasn't protesting at all in the first place, I was just stating facts! If we live together, things will get complicated, and things getting complicated will make it hard to deal with, and if it's hard to deal with, it might--" Nino's face turns away. "It'll be bad. _Obviously_."

Aiba's entire body thrums with anxiety at that, but this is not his talk to interrupt. It feels like the other two have forgotten about his presence entirely. 

"You're not willing to try at all, is what you're saying," Jun says.

"Are _you?_ "

Jun's eyelids dip. "So what if I am?"

Nino's lips part with shock. "Are you crazy? You _know_ all the things that could go wrong, what it could cost us! All of us! You agreed with me that the risk wasn't worth it!"

"And I changed my mind. I think it is."

"So what happens if we fuck up?" Nino shouts.

"We'll work it out," Jun returns, just as quickly. "We've gotten this far together. What on earth could break us apart now?"

" _WE_ COULD, YOU IDIOT!" 

Aiba cracks -- it's not conscious, there's no discernible thought, just pure reaction -- there's Nino's voice yelling in high panic and then suddenly there's Aiba's arms wrapped around him, holding tightly, his hand cupping the back of Nino's neck, his arm iron around Nino's shoulders. 

"We won't, we won't," Aiba hears himself saying, over and over, while Nino stands as stiff as a pole and near hyperventilates into Aiba's collarbone. 

"No we won't," Jun repeats, and Aiba hears the jingle of a keychain as Jun reaches over and presses Nino's yellow-tailed key into Nino's limp hand. A vow. 

And as Nino's short, stubby fingers close over the key in an uncertain grip, his other arm rises, with all the reluctant obedience of a soldier carrying out a suicide order, to hug Aiba back.

~

Aiba was thirty when Sho-chan kissed him for the first time, in the shadowed back end of a bar in Osaka. He was thirty-one when Ohno pecked him on the lips, a friendly peck, an I'm-glad-you're-with-me-Aiba-chan peck, and Aiba didn’t let Ohno pull away. Aiba was newly thirty-two when he got kissed (a stolen kiss) by Nino, and thirty-two still but feeling like a new man when he finally reached across that final divide and pulled Jun into his embrace. 

It was Sho's kiss that was marked a turning point in Aiba's life, an ungraceful shove into a pioneering journey of a vast, unexplored continent consisting of no-holds-barred, yes-to-everything, always-and-forever love. It was Aiba's first foray in touching an Arashi member _with intent_. Well preceding that incident, it was common knowledge that Ohno and Nino were sleeping together. Except since it was _them_ , for various inexplicable laws of their combined natures, their relationship didn't hold the significant impact that is usually afforded to members within the same group dating, or even just normal dating full stop. They weren't _together_ together, not like that. It was Taka and Yuuji, Oh S and Miya K, and they were a force that was as unquestionable as the seasons, the weather, the earth's ocean currents. They just were, and no one really questioned it that much. For Sho to kiss Aiba, though, despite how they "forgot all about it, don't worry" the next hung over morning, and then for Aiba to dream about that kiss every other night for what felt like freaking eons, interspersed with occasional cameos by Jun, Ohno, and Nino, that was something Aiba had to evaluate a little more seriously. One intergroup relationship was bad enough, no matter that it was an ambiguous one, but two? It could shake the very foundations of Arashi. Aiba wouldn't have it. Outwardly, he never brought up that incident again to Sho, but inwardly, he replayed it so often it became the background anthem of his repressed life. 

Aiba suffered in lonesome torture for a full sixteen months until he caught sight of his second Arashi-life-changing event. It happened after Aiba's backstage kiss with Ohno, fuelled by concert energy, and not long before Nino's jealousy-tinged but-wasn't-I-your-first? kiss with Aiba at Aiba's Merry Birthday party. A normal evening in an otherwise normal week and he stumbled across Nino and Sho making out like frantic, guilty teenagers in the front seat of Sho's car. Aiba had wanted to approach Sho to ask him for a ride home, but noticed a weird shifting blob donned in very familiar colours and hairstyles moving in the front of Sho's silver Audi. As Aiba realized what he was seeing through the windows of the passenger seat, the world had actually blurred and tilted beneath his feet. He might have fainted, if Sho hadn't caught his eye, yelped, shoved Nino away, and came scrambling out of the car with a red face but redder lips. It had taken almost five minutes of streaming apology before he caught notice of Aiba's dazed, glassy eyes, and had asked him if he was okay.

And oh, was Aiba better than okay. He had, just as he had so many years ago, on location in the middle of the night, listening to Sho's casual remarks on what were supposed to be irrelevant things, felt a strange new light spark in his mind, a tiny, delicate seed take root. 

That original kiss with Sho had been exhilarating, amazing, _right_ , but even then, emboldened under the influence of alcohol and nostalgia, it was the scariest thing Aiba had ever done in his life. That said loads; Aiba had done a heck of a lot with his life by that point. He thought he'd never be able to top the sensation of that moment: all of his hopes and fears mixing, escalating together, running headfirst over a cliff face with no clue how deep the trench lay, the adrenaline of doing what he'd always wanted but never could say aloud, tasting the sake on Sho's lips, reveling in the heat of Sho's mouth, Aiba had been sure nothing would wreck him as much as this. The later kisses he shared with Ohno and Nino and Jun, those kisses were precious, had meant everything, but they were, realistically, not world-shifting, the trio of them too encumbered by time limits and confusion and superimposed with shit-what-are-we-doing panic. Sho's drunken kiss had been thoughtless, reckless, brave, and good, it allowed Aiba to at once unburden his soul and self-realize it, but most importantly, it had been the start, the Big Bang, the first step into a new world; it provided the grounds for everything else that followed after.

But catching Nino and Sho together was something else: an equally hair-raising, spine-tingling, brain-fritzing moment, but also _revelatory_. It wasn't the physical sight of Nino and Sho's kiss that impacted Aiba, hit him with as much force as a meteorite on a sandy beach (although _yes_ it was _so hot_ ), but the meaning of the kiss itself. Seeing Sho and Nino paw at each other with unfettered desire made plain to Aiba just how much the other members of the group wanted one another. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before, when now, opening his mind to the idea, it seemed as transparent as the windows of Sho's car, which provided Aiba with not just a view the show, but also a reflection of this potential, of what he could have. What they could all have, and share together, in a fairy tale ending that should be too good to be true but _wasn't_. The sight meant that Aiba, as Arashi had always, always taught him, was not alone. 

Maybe Aiba would have let sleeping dogs lie, however, if things had concluded at that. Sho and Aiba shared an inebriated kiss and grope in a dodgy yakiniku bar, Sho and Nino had a questionably sober necking session the day before Sho was due for his two-week visit to Nicaragua, which presumably Nino would tell Ohno about, because Nino didn't keep secrets from Ohno, but that was it, the end, no more, go home. Aiba could attribute either situation to a variety of reasons, endless lists of reasons, which were all ultimately excuses and covers, but whatever, tolerable. Sufficient. 

But because Aiba's world view had shifted (other Arashi members were attracted to each other when they weren't Ohno and Nino and it wasn't Aiba doing the lusting?!), he began to see, as if a veil had been lifted from his senses -- no amount of pretexts in the world could explain away the lingering gazes Jun gave to Sho when he thought no one was looking, the appreciative smirk on Nino's face when Jun waltzed in with a new haircut, the ever-so-slight furrow of brow Ohno would make when Sho wasn't at his side at the beginning of a talk-heavy segment, the bright grin that Jun couldn't temper when Ohno called for his help... Aiba watched all of this; how the five of them had managed to last so long without some kind of implosion occurring became a greater miracle to him each consecutive day. 

He doesn't dare take credit for getting the five of them together. That had been, as was Arashi's tendency, a group effort. Even Aiba's awkward attempts at seduction (just light teasing, just to catch anyone's interest, just to see that he _could_ ) had been barely more successful than accidental crotch-brushes in the sweat-dampened madness of their concert changing rooms. What Aiba does take credit for is his uncoordinated, brazen statement to the other four members at their concert wrap-up dinner of 2014. He'd had too much to drink, and too much to drink after Arashi concerts only ever resulted in one thing for Aiba: love confessions.

Under the pooled efforts of sake, good food, post-performance high, and the amazing atmosphere the five of them created together, no matter if they had an audience or not, Aiba had proclaimed his devotion to each member in turn, then all of them at once, and had ended his spontaneous oration with a declaration for the ages: "We should just give in and do each other! It'll be awesome!!"

It wasn't awesome, because it didn't happen. Aiba, in his own ungainly way, had again pulled a Da Vinci, and unleashed upon the world an artifact that was years ahead of its time. 

That proclamation, brushed off the next morning with good but strained humour and just a little teasing by the others, had occurred in November, a month before Nino kissed Aiba and ten months before Aiba kissed Jun; all the time leading up to that point, Aiba had spent in a downward spiral of patience and sanity. Afterwards, he forced himself to take a step back. He hadn't let go of the idea, but he hadn't pushed it again so blatantly. What he'd only been peripherally aware of at the time, was that his hopeful and hopeless statement that night had set a new course of events in motion -- like a butterfly flapping its wings causing, inexorably, inevitably, a typhoon on the other side of the planet. Some kind of destiny for five boyish souls tied together by the bond of their group. Compelled by Aiba's bumbling initiative, they'd been, unbeknownst to even themselves, slowly gravitating towards each other with a surety that was customary to planetary orbits. During that interim, there came plenty more compromising and hastily apologized for situations among the members, Aiba's notwithstanding, and they were all, in the end, guilty bedfellows. It was merely an issue of admitting the truth to themselves, of putting a word to their mutual desire, to the path they were all walking down. Eventually, one day, Aiba's keenness got the better of him, and he had, after an extensive internal debate that culminated in the conclusion, "I'm talking myself in circles here, fuck, ah, let's just go for it," taken the wild leap to grab at his irrepressible vision of the future with both hands: hands framing Jun's startled face, hands pulling Jun in for a kiss, hands that convinced Jun to give in as well. The others members burst in the room at that exact moment, and the rest, well -- cliché or not, Aiba would take it. 

It was both a triumph and a relief; the past year had left them all in a state of jittery nerves, anticipating something that no one dared to name but became harder and harder to ignore with each passing day. Aiba kissing Jun just happened to be the final kick to get their engine revving.

That was five years ago. They'd had a fair share of ups and downs within those years, like any relationship multiplied by a factorial of five, but they'd stuck it out, gotten stronger, cultivated their bond from a single string into a braided rope. They'd been happy. More than happy. Aiba's mind was a flourishing forest, his heart a contained sun. He thought he'd never want anything more.

Wrong, of course.

Wrong, but that was okay. It turns out okay, because with Jun and Nino accepting their keys to Aiba's house, Sho -- already mostly convinced anyway -- and Ohno, who dutifully followed the four of them in his characteristic leading form, are not far behind, and then it's a set, it's complete, it's done. The puzzle pieces all gathered, the family whole, the debut of a new great adventure and the finale of the fairy tale that Aiba had dreamt for them long ago, under so many stars and streaks of colour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lysanderpuck and toinkydoink for invaluable beta jobs, and thanks to everyone who helped me brainstorm (read: gave me answers) female celebrities that could be romantically connected to Jun. And thank YOU for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

"No, you can't put your video games in the bookshelf! They'll take up too much space."

"What do you need all that space for?"

" _Books._ It's a bookshelf."

"Sho-chan doesn't even read this much!"

" _Sho-chan_ right now needs help in the study because he can't actually assemble this desk by himself!" Sho shouts at them. Nino and Jun spare a glance in his direction, just in time to watch the three wooden pieces Sho is valiantly trying to match together tumble apart -- pulling a harried scream from their assembler -- then simultaneously go back to arguing about shelf territory.

Aiba heaves a sigh and leaves the box he's unpacking labelled _FIGURINE COLLECTION_ in Nino's scrawled handwriting, and goes to help Sho.

"We should have bought these preassembled, in retrospect," Sho says, hurtling some cardboard across the floor so Aiba has space to sit. "Or hired people to do it for us. Hold up these two pieces, please."

"But where's the fun in that?" Aiba asks, trying to keep his hands as steady as possible as Sho drills in a screw.

"I think we passed the point of fun when Jun unloaded two full boxes of hats and kicked Ohno out to buy five hat stands."

"I suggested that we move in slowly! Bits and pieces!" Aiba protests. "It's not my fault Jun-kun wanted to bring all his hats in together."

"When did he amass so many of them, anyway? I can't remember the last time I actually saw him wear one of them." Sho laughs slightly. "Can you imagine how many pairs of shoes he must have?"

Aiba stares at him, suddenly fearful. "Sho-chan. Shit. We're going to need more closet space."

The electric drill in Sho's hand slowly lowers. "You're right," he says.

Out in the hall, Nino's voice is shouting shrilly. "DON'T TOUCH THOSE! THEY'RE SORTED IN A VERY CRUCIAL ORDER THAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS BUT ME!"

~

Aiba doesn't get it. _He_ managed to move in with minimal fuss -- what's making it so hard for everyone else to do the same? He's already provided all the basic necessities they need: furniture and glassware and plenty of linens and towels -- all the others had to do was to get some of their favourite things and fill up the house's empty spaces with their own personal touch. Books in the bookcase, gaming systems by the TV, snacks in the cupboards. All residences basically function in the same way, so why on earth are they getting into debates about the proper way to sort video game cartridges and matching the colour of hat stands to the walls? Aiba has never owned a real hat stand in his life, so he had no idea they came part and parcel with a boatload of decor-related drama. Considering that none of them are actually giving up their individual condos or apartments in Tokyo, Aiba really hadn't foreseen that moving in would be so stressful. 

There's a minor disaster zone in the study because Sho hasn't yet finished assembling his desk but Jun has already started unpacking Sho's books into the two remaining bookcases still in the room, leaving the rest of them in unequal piles around their boxes like shrapnel in a crater of historical Japanese literature. The trail of them leads to the living room, where the third of Aiba's bookcases stands against the wall, guarding over litters of game cards scattered on the floor around it, a collection in every shape and size. Every available surface in the kitchen has been taken up by some sort of pot, pan or set of utensils, courtesy of Ohno, who had been looking for Jun's electric can opener but didn't notice any of Jun's precise labelling on the sides of his _Kitchen Tools_ boxes. There is one Nintendo gaming system connected to the television and eight more other gaming systems on standby, waiting to be docked to an outlet just as soon as Nino locates his power outlet extension hub and his set of adapters, which are apparently in one of the many plastic cases marked _GAME STUFF_. The floor of the living room has been recarpeted in Ohno's artwork, framed and otherwise, none of which can be hung up on the wall until Jun is satisfied with the arrangement of the furniture -- which won't be until they finish assembling Sho's desk and decide if they ought to move that third bookcase back into the study and buy another one for the living room -- progress of which is passing at a snail's pace because Sho is taking a break by listening to Nino play guitar in the corner of the room where all his instruments are, instruments that had been in relatively neat order that morning but have since just amalgamated into and exacerbated the general chaos of the house.

There's also packing peanuts and bubble wrap literally _everywhere_. Aiba's enfeebled old cat Holmes has lost three feline years off her life, easy. 

This is only the first floor. Aiba's been afraid of venturing upstairs since Jun lugged a few suitcases up there an hour ago and hasn't come down since.

It's nearing nine pm. They'd started at noon. Aiba has had a raging headache for the last two hours. He's also starving, but they'd only remembered to order food about fifteen minutes ago so the take-out guy hasn't arrived yet. 

Aiba drifts around aimlessly, kicking away plastic bags like autumn leaves on the sidewalk, noting all the things that he has to do and promptly dismissing them for an ambiguous "later" -- until he finds Ohno lying down in the centre rug of his art room (also a mess, tackle boxes and fishing poles leaning against every wall), head pillowed on a cushion and obviously asleep. Holmes is curled up on Ohno's stomach, body rising and falling with every breath Ohno takes.

Nothing in life has ever looked so appealing.

Aiba grabs another nearby cushion and clears out a little area beside Ohno, pushing away paint palettes and pencil sets and pots of clay, until there's enough room for him to lie down properly. When he does so, his back cracks three, four times as Aiba makes himself comfortable.

Ohno blearily opens one eye. "What're you doing?"

Aiba smiles and crosses his fingers over his own chest. "Joining you for a nap."

"Was I napping?"

"Looked like it to me," Aiba answers nimbly. "Holmes-san doesn't like laying on awake people."

One of Ohno's long-fingered hands drifts up to scratch gently at Holmes' neck, and the cat purrs audibly.

"Moving is stressful. I was meditating," Ohno murmurs.

"Is that so," Aiba grins. "Well, then allow me to join you for some relaxing meditation, Ohno-sensei."

Ohno closes his eyes and settles his hand over Holmes' neck. "Close the door, please?"

From the hall, the rapid-harsh thrumming of Nino's acoustic guitar dabbles the air and while the melody is far from abrasive, what Aiba really wants right now is some peace and quiet. He levers himself up and closes the door to the art room; the din outside softens to a distant muffle. 

Aiba can already tell that this room is going to be one of the most peaceful in the house.

He's back on the rug and asleep before he realizes it. When he wakes up, the house is quiet and there's a woolly blanket draped over him and Ohno. Holmes is nowhere in sight. Aiba checks his watch, blinking blearily; it's almost three in the morning. God, he has to get up for six tomorrow -- today.

"Oh-chan," Aiba whispers, nudging Ohno's shoulder. "Captain. Wake up, we can't spend all night on the floor."

Ohno pouts in his sleep, nose wrinkling.

"Okay, maybe we could," Aiba amends, "but it would be bad for our backs and we'd really regret later. Come on, let's go upstairs." He takes Ohno's arms and pulls. 

"'M fine down here," Ohno mumbles, eyelids barely twitching open, but allows Aiba to tug him to his feet like Frankenstein. 

Together they creep out of the studio, both of them yawning hugely, across the living room floor (showing significantly less litter), and up the stairs to the master bedroom, where Aiba nudges open the door and sees the unmistakeable outlines of Nino and Sho's bodies nestled together in the middle of the bed, half-silhouetted by the silver moonlight. 

Aiba fumbles out of his clothes and into his sleeping shorts, then lets himself in on the right side of the bed, burrowing close to his favourite sloping-shouldered space heater.

"Aiba?" Sho asks, turning over with his eyes closed. Aiba leans in and ghosts a kiss over Sho's brow. 

"Go back to sleep, Sho-chan," he whispers. "Where's Matsujun?"

"He's -- other bedroom," Sho says, words slurred with fatigue. "Fell asleep sorting his clothes."

Aiba presses down a laugh so he doesn't jostle the bed. Ohno, changed into his ratty pajama shirt that's probably twice as old as any of them, is gently lowering himself down on the other side of the bed, next to Nino. Nino makes a soft noise from the back of his throat and unconsciously tucks himself into Ohno's body. 

"Night," Ohno says.

"Good night," Aiba echoes, and lets himself drift away.

~

Morning comes much earlier than Aiba would prefer, and it's heralded by yelling.

"I have to _be there_ at 7:30 -- you have to let me shower!" Nino's fist pounds incessantly at the door. 

"Use the other washroom!" Aiba hollers back over the spray of the water. "I got here first!" It's not his fault Nino slept through all three of his cell phone alarms.

"But Jun's using the other one!" Nino whines.

"Then wait until one of us is done!"

"What part of 7:30 don't you understand?" His voice comes through miraculously clearly and Aiba shoves aside the shower curtain to see Nino in the washroom, stripping in front of the sink.

"I thought I locked that door," Aiba says, glaring. Ohno teaching Nino how to lock pick all those years ago was and continues to be probably the worst thing that anyone could have done in the history of ever. 

"Now, why would you need to do that when all of us undoubtedly respect each other's personal space?" Nino smirks, and steps into the bathtub. He casts a completely unsubtle look at Aiba's crotch. "Don't you usually get morning wood?"

Aiba sighs; this is why he locked the bathroom door today. _He_ woke up late too, and can't afford any distractions if he wants to be out of the house by seven. 

"I did," he says, exasperated, "but I took care of it. I don't have time to-- _Nino!_ " Nino's small hands grab Aiba's waist and turns him around so his back faces Nino's chest. "No, hey -- not right now!"

"Geez, you're so squawky before you have breakfast. You're like some indignant parrot," Nino says, and Aiba hears a plastic cap flip open, a squirting sound, then a cool blob of liquid lands on the base of his neck. "I'm just washing your back, okay?"

"Oh. Okay."

"Then you can do mine while I wash my hair. See, this is called efficiency, Aiba-san."

"Yeah but can it really be called that if I'm spending more of _my_ time to help _you_ wash?"

He yelps as his feels a pinch on his left butt cheek. "When did you get so smart?" Nino asks, clearly holding back laughter.

Aiba rolls his shoulders, shrugging. "I've always been smart," he says, though his energy's not in it. "The smartest one of them all, Aiba-chan." He doesn't want to admit it, but Nino's up-down-circular stroke on his back is _amazingly_ soothing.

A pair of wet lips press into his skin, at the top knob of Aiba's spine. It's as much of a concession as Aiba's ever going to get out of Nino. 

They take twice as long in the shower as Aiba had planned for, so by the time Aiba is downstairs and dressed, his body is feeling good but his mind is relatively annoyed. He won't have time for breakfast, and the drama set won't have catering until noon. And with all the moving in stuff to worry about, he'd completely forgotten to go grocery shopping, so he can't grab anything for the commute. His stomach gurgles like a nuclear reaction, still upset that Aiba had slept through dinner last night. 

"There's leftovers from last night's takeout," Jun says from the kitchen counter, and Aiba zooms to the fridge.

It's Indian food -- a bit heavy for such an early morning, but Aiba's not picky. He microwaves some naan bread and some curry for only a few seconds and starts shovelling the lukewarm food into his mouth without even putting it on a plate first.

"Disgusting," says Jun, who's not even looking at him. He's leaning on his hands, staring at Aiba's coffee maker with a relentless intensity that might better be employed on the faces of police detectives at serial killer trials.

"You don't actually have to watch it to make it work properly," Aiba says, mouth half-full of bread and goo.

Jun ignores him. His manicured nails drum a rapid-fire beat on Aiba's faux-marble countertops. 

"How did you sleep last night?" Aiba goes on. "You should have joined us in the big bed."

Jun grunts. "It's too soft for my tastes anyway."

"Oh. So -- wait, you're going to take the second bedroom? The one by the staircase?"

"We'll see."

"We should figure it out later. Have a family meeting or something?"

"Whatever, fine. You need to stop talking now before I kill you," Jun says.

"So grumpy, Matsujun. Is the coffee going to finish in the next two minutes? Because otherwise I'm gonna take off."

"No, leave," Jun says, flicking his fingers at him. "I'm making it extra strong so it's taking longer."

"Damn," Aiba sighs, checking the digital clock on the microwave. No time left even for tea. He tosses his unfinished food onto the table and rushes to the front door, but once outside, he has to stop short.

On the driveway to the garage, _both_ Jun and Sho's cars are blocking Aiba's from being able to back out. The shiny finish of their chrome hoods from the early dawn sunlight gleam mockingly at Aiba.

"What the -- HEY!" Aiba shouts, even though no one else is there to hear him. Did he break a mirror or something last night while unpacking, because why else would the entire world be out to get him today? Never mind that it's his fault he couldn't get out of bed on time, that he should have remembered that there would be other cars to compete for driveway space now, that having more people in the house automatically means that Aiba's entire morning routine will be messed up by default; whatever, it's 6:50 am, it's too early for Aiba to be reasonable about things. He has have a mind to throw down his bag and stomp his foot in a tantrum.

"Sho! Jun!" he hollers, storming back in the house. "You have to move your cars out of the way! I can't drive mine out!"

"All your cereal is _terrible_ ," is what Jun yells back.

Aiba ends up being over half an hour late for filming and he ducks shame-faced onto the set like a tardy schoolboy, bowing apologies to everyone he can see. Because of the tight filming schedule, they had to start without him, and the order of scenes has been rearranged -- Aiba isn't needed for another hour. It's not a great start to the day, but not the end of the world, either. 

He gets periodic texts from the others as the hours drag on. _They_ evidently don't have any schedules at all except to bother Aiba when _he's_ busiest. 

Sent from: _Jun_ at _9:31AM:_  
Where do you keep the kitty litter

Sent from: _Jun_ at _9:47AM:_  
Nm I found it

Sent from: _Sho_ at _10:02AM:_  
Aiba, I accidentally created a very large black mark on the  
wall of the study while I was pushing the desk around. I...  
am very sorry. But I felt you would appreciate being kept  
informed. 

Sent from: _Sho_ at _10:05AM:_  
It wiped off!! With just a rag and cleaner!! Amazing.

Sent from: _Sho_ at _10:11AM:_  
Is it best to wear gloves for this kind of thing? The tips  
of my fingers feel as if they're burning.

Sent from: _Jun_ at _10:16AM:_  
We need to make rules about cleaning house, specifically  
re: sho

Sent from: _Nino_ at _12:41PM:_  
came home for lunch!!!!! we better have food in here!!!!!

Sent from: _Nino_ at _12:43PM:_  
omfg why did you not warn me jun organized the entire kitchen  
WHERE IS EVERYTHING

Sent from: _Ohno_ at _12:55PM:_  
aibachan are u going back for lunch. nino wants me to  
get him gyoza, do u want some to?

Sent from: _Nino_ at _1:08PM:_  
sooooo i just spilt soy sauce on that brown red rug whoops sry  
i'll clean it up but yeah the smell is gonna stay for a bit

Sent from: _Ohno_ at _1:19PM:_  
ffffffdsssssssssssssssssssssssssdd

Sent from: _Ohno_ at _1:31PM:_  
sry, butt txt

Sent from: _Sho_ at _3:38PM:_  
Have you been back to the house yet this afternoon? For some  
reason it smells like soy sauce. 

It's a quarter annoying and three-quarters hilarious, but simultaneously, kind of overwhelming. Rising out of a drought of nothing, suddenly there's so much happening, and everything is qualified as Aiba's business. 

It's a lot to take in at once. A wildfire is now burning where there only used to be kindle wood. 

Their last morning together, following Aiba's impromptu housewarming, had been much easier, more relaxed, even with the occasional awkward moment. Aiba hadn't been expecting anything other than a great night, which he got in spades; and conversely, nothing had been expected of him, possibly other than a great night in a new place, which he delivered. Now everything feels different. The pressure of the move-in paints everything in a shade of significance that Aiba hadn't expected. It's thrilling, but it also makes Aiba's stomach giddy in ways that are hard to parse out. It's as if he's perched at the top of the steepest hill of a rollercoaster -- though Aiba loves rollercoasters and the rush of impending excitement he gets as the front of his car pushes just over the balance of the drop, there's always that primitive, reptilian part of his brain that's in an abject state of fright and panic, screaming, "You've committed to it! It's going to happen! Are you going to die? You better not die!" Yesterday had been more stressful than fun, and even though waking up in his huge bed, snuggled in the warm crook of Sho's neck had been amazing in an indescribable way, the promise of a long work day on top of everything else Aiba had to do regarding the house pretty much ruined that high, fast. And the whole point of sharing a house together was so that Aiba would have something to look forward to, to counter the depressing effects of exhausting days at work. But right now there's exhausting work involved with the house, too.

He got caught up again. He has this habit of focusing more on the good than the bad in future situations, to the point of tunnel vision. It’s not like Aiba minds all the work involved with moving per se, but all the same, he'd rather it end as soon as possible. So they, him included, can finally feel settled in. 

The image of their house that Aiba has in his mind's eye is every synonym of perfection. A well-kept lawn (kept that way by magic or a gardener, he supposes) leading up to the front door, above which hangs a simple metal wind chime. Inside, he's welcomed by the smell of meat grilling for dinner. There's Nino's favourite red guitar on its stand, connected to a small amp, recently used. There's a pair of green wings hanging from the banister of the staircase, evidence of Aiba's most recent experiment. A few steps forward and Aiba sees Sho in his study, face buried within a miniature city of books. He's listening to music, a classical piece remixed with rap, and his head tilts side to side as he reads. Ahead, the foyer opens to the kitchen and the living room. Jun-kun's cooking up a storm, the dogs yipping around his ankles and the cat perched on the nearby table, colour-patched tail swishing in time to Jun's strokes of his spatula. Nino's sprawled upside down on the couch, feet in the air, watching their most recent guest appearance on a variety and laughing at the most inappropriate parts. Between them, the door to the art studio is closed, but as Aiba approaches, it opens, and Ohno steps out, paint streaks on his cheek and ink staining his hands. He smiles at Aiba and waves him over to see his newest creation hanging on the window, a stained glass mosaic of beach and sea, made resplendent by the golden sun dipping low over the horizon and skimming their backyard with warm, shimmering rays of light. The door to the backyard has been propped open with a telephone book, and a breeze of evening air wafts in, smelling of forests and salt. Jun calls for dinner, and Ohno smiles, leading Aiba to the dining room, where the others are already seated. They serve the food and talk about their day and laugh together, and the tinkling of the wind chime above their front door reaches Aiba's ears, just barely, and reminds him that he's not dreaming. 

That's what Aiba's aiming for. 

He can't fucking wait. 

~

"Ready?" Sho calls. Two faces nod back at him. 

"Rock, paper, scissors!"

"YES! Aaah, what a relief!"

"What is this? I want a rematch, let's go again."

"No, that was the last one! I win, the room's mine."

Aiba pipes up, "You know, the way you're all so enthusiastic about this, it's like you don't _want_ to share a room with me."

"Get rid of your Chia pet and then we'll talk," Nino says, already grabbing his stuff and heading for the second bedroom. 

"What do you have against Kirby?" Aiba demands, but Nino's already around the door frame. 

"It's dead and you need to throw it out," Jun answers from the bean bag chair, flipping a page in his magazine. "It smells."

"That's the smell of soil, Matsujun! Don't you know anything?"

"I know that if something's covered in terracotta, there shouldn't be a smell of soil." 

It's Saturday evening, and they're figuring out the distribution of the second floor. By mutual agreement (despite Aiba's insistence that the room belongs to all of them) Aiba gets to keep the master bedroom, and Jun has already claimed one of the smaller bedrooms as his own by marking his territory with sharp jewelry and snappy hats. Between the two remaining bedrooms, there are three candidates, and Nino win his own room without cheating at all. Sho drops forlornly onto the carpet beside Ohno, who hadn't even bothered standing up to throw his losing hand of scissors. "Guess we'll be sharing, Satoshi-kun. I apologize in advance for my snoring."

Ohno laughs. "That's okay. I sleep pretty well."

"What type of mattress would you prefer? A double or a queen's? We could also get two twin beds, if you prefer. I'm rather flexible, but firmer mattresses are better for you back. Or we can get a memory foam mattress, but then we absolutely must stick to our own sides of the bed."

Ohno says, "It's fine. Whatever is good." Then, after a short pause, "I'd like a fish tank."

"Oh!" Sho lights up. "That's a great idea. Let's figure out the bed situation, and then make some room for a tank. I guess we should be careful that it's placed somewhere Holmes can't get to."

"You should watch out," Jun says. "He's already taken a liking to the salt smell from Ohno's clothes. You should occasionally light those incense sticks you're scarily obsessed with." 

"Oi. I'm not obsessed."

"SHO," Nino's voice yells out, "there's a spider in here. Come kill it for me!"

"No, kill it yourself!" Sho says, recoiling.

"Don't kill it," Aiba cries. "Throw it outside or something."

"There's no way I'm touching it!" Nino shouts back. "What's the matter with this thing, it's headed for my headphones. It's going to lay eggs there. SHO!"

Jun sighs and goes instead, rolling up his magazine into a tube.

Ohno turns to Aiba. "Do we have any ramen?"

Aiba grins. " _Loads_." 

~

So the move is slow going, but it does go. Bit by bit, bauble by bauble, things from Tokyo find new residence in Chiba. The empty shelves of the house fill up with books, photo albums, discs of every shape and size. Nino’s electronic keyboard is set up at his preferred height; no one else touches it. The cabinets are stacked with mismatched sets of dishware: Aiba’s, some of Jun’s, some of Sho’s, plus a new collection, gifted from Aiba’s mom a while back as a congratulations for her son’s first movie. Ohno’s art easel makes a permanent home in the corner of his studio, facing the window overlooking the backyard. There are two desks built in the study, taking up the perimeter of most of the room -- Sho’s, where he can pile papers and DVDs to his heart’s content, and a larger, more open desk that everyone else can use. Some of Aiba’s photos are taken down, either relocated or replaced by others, but the walls are eventually peppered with captured memories. By the time everyone is satisfied with the appearance of things, there’s a near-coherent theme in the décor: Aiba calls it “Arashi style” but Jun calls it “sloppy.” 

Here and there, they have some heated discussions about who should get what space, and what should take up whose space, but the stakes are mitigated by the fact that everyone still has their old apartments in Tokyo. Some nights, it’s just easier not to travel all the way out of town, braving distance and traffic, and sacrifice a precious few hours of sleep. But some other nights, after a rough day, the extra time is worth it to get away from all the trappings of a life in show business. In any one evening, chances are there will be at least one member of Arashi in their Chiba hideaway. 

Aiba spends practically every night in the bed of the master bedroom now, and never alone.

At first, it had been left up to him to initiate intimacy -- between four rooms, five people, and the endless permutations of their schedules, coordination is a bit of a struggle. Despite the past ease in which they could proposition each other into staying at another’s apartment for the night, sharing living space seemed to have the curious and unexpected effect of dampening their collective libido and making them more reluctant to seek out a certain kind of company. Somehow, the novelty of being in such close quarters has made them awkward, like prepubescent schoolchildren who’ve confessed their crush but have no idea what the next step is. Do they do it whenever they feel like? Do they have to give advance notice? Can it still be pairs, or does it always have to be the five of them together for it to count? Who makes the first move? Whose bed do they use?

The only word Aiba could find in his not-that-impressive arsenal to describe it was that it felt like everyone was being _shy_. But Arashi being shy around Arashi is a ludicrous notion on par with boats made out of cloth (or lego, or origami, but -- well); these are the same people who have seen Aiba cry when a very old grandma fan called him Masaki-chan, heard him burp accidentally on mic in the middle of a nation-wide telecast, and smelled it when he puked so hard after a wild night out that he’d farted in unison. They live in the same house now -- surely shame is a waste of time and energy, a distant relic of the past, like floppy disks and -- and combustible engines? The point is, anyway, that there are better uses for them. 

The key, he learns quickly, is to be really blatant about his desires. Matsujun in the kitchen, making a salad? Dip your finger in the salad dressing and suck it off, moaning about its salty tang. Ohno in the studio, molding clay? Walk in naked, ask him to draw you like one of his French girls. (And actually, Ohno hadn't gotten the reference, but the intent had been pretty self-explanatory.) Sho relaxing in a white wife-beater, composing rap lyrics? Slide a hand under his shirt and whisper dirty limericks in his ear. Nino playing video games with his glasses and headphones? Sit next to the television and touch yourself. Okay, well, the last one doesn't really work, but this is because Nino on a gaming crusade can purposefully ignore an earthquake warning without batting an eyelash, and speaks _not at all_ about Aiba's level of sexiness while masturbating -- which is high. Threesomes and moresomes are a bit more tricky to arrange, but usually, if two of them get into it and someone else is within hearing range, things work themselves out. 

It’s a challenge, navigating the straits of their relationship archipelago, but one that Aiba takes on with the full eagerness of a conqueror exploring his new lands; with a definitive goal in mind, every next step is a small victory. Aiba appreciates that, because between all the major ups and minor downs of homemaking, he’s actually having a hell of a time keeping up with jobs. It's the last stretch of drama filming before Aiba's show about a young, hard-headed business man who accidentally signs a contract to work in a rundown old bookstore for a full year, is due to broadcast soon and everyone working on the show is fraught with nerves, trying to finish their episode quota on time. In addition to that, Arashi's annual end-of-summer concert is fast approaching and dance practises have started up in preparation. (Arashi's concerts, since whittled down to two huge concert venues per year, are still just as fun as they've always been, but Aiba can't deny that dancing nonstop for three plus hours takes a lot more out of him than it used to.) And of course, there's the regular workload of Arashi's television and MC roles, _plus_ keeping tabs on the animal shelter he'd appropriated a few years back. They'd rescued about twenty dogs from a puppy mill recently, so it's high time to schedule another interview and use his celebrity status to drum up some renewed interest in pet adoption.

A schedule like this probably would be classified as "light to medium" load back in Arashi's heyday. Aiba probably wouldn't even get the luxury of having free evenings for the majority of the week. Neither fact helps sustain him very much, though, when it’s approaching ten pm and he’s about to fall flat on his face out of exhaustion. 

Coming home to friendly faces on days like that is so good Aiba can’t even put it into words. Mood-lifting. Life-giving. Soul-reaffirming. The worries of the day simply melt off his shoulders from hearing Sho and Ohno’s chorus of laughter following the high-pitched volley of Nino’s joke, then Jun’s bone-dry rebuttal, setting Sho off again.

Home is cloud nine, as Aiba always knew it would be. 

The month turns and August, buzzing hot and radiant, creeps up without his full notice. He has some vague awareness that the days are passing, but it’s another busy season of work; between the urgency of drama filming and the stringent Arashi-related schedules, dates are not actually sinking in. There’s so much to do and so many things occupying his attention that there’s barely even time to enjoy the house, but to Aiba’s consolation (and disappointment), the others don’t spend heavy amounts of time there either, everyone occupied with different projects. 

It takes until Aiba shuffles home one day, finger under his nose because he forgot to take his allergy medication that morning and suffered through an entire day trying to pre-emptively block his sneezes, to find Ohno painting Jun’s toenails a lush, royal purple while Jun lay on his back and read manga, that Aiba remembers that it’ll soon be Jun’s birthday. Number thirty-seven. 

Jun has had a weird issue with birthdays ever since he passed thirty, and hasn’t made a history of being any more than professionally polite the last six years when he was handed a cake decorated with his name and a large number of candles (or too few, which he thought was mocking and therefore worse). Aiba tries to reassure him that he doesn’t look a day over twenty-seven, but leave it to Jun to obsess crazily about the aesthetics of laugh lines when in Aiba's opinion they're nothing but badges of happiness. There’s something to be said about aging gracefully, but they’re idols and they sell their faces, so Aiba can’t begrudge Jun’s bitterness about getting older, even though he can’t quite manage the same level of animosity towards his own birthday. He thinks that maybe, if it were a small, intimate affair, just the five of them, Jun would enjoy it a bit more? At least among their private circle he can’t complain wholeheartedly about being so old he should just up and die already, because whatever else, he's still their youngest.

It could be nice.

Aiba oozes down on the floor next to Jun and Ohno and does his best imitation of a piece of driftwood.

"Tired?" Jun asks, flipping a page of his comic book.

"Ah, yeah," grunts Aiba. He is unaccountably thankful for the Persian rug Sho had insisted they add to the living room floor. The fibres scratch pleasantly against his cheek. 

"Nino made some onigiri this morning, if you want some," Ohno offers.

"Maybe later. I got a bento on set."

Jun hums and flips another page. Ohno finishes with Jun's left foot and removes it from his lap, gently picking up the right one. Jun doesn't wear polish on the nails of his hand anymore, hasn't for years, but sometimes he still indulges his toenails for fun, then covers them up with socks. Aiba thinks it's cute. 

"Do you want a birthday party?" Aiba blurts out, turning his head in Jun's direction. "Like, with just the five of us? Here? We can get a cake or not get a cake. It can be the most partyless party ever."

The beginnings of a grin spread across Jun's lips like a bird opening his wings for flight. "Sure, I'd like that," he agrees, and Aiba nods. Good.

"Cake?" Ohno asks, focused on the canvas of Jun's toenails like a true artist. 

"A small one, then," Jun allows.

"Great! Done," Aiba says, more than satisfied. He's accomplished enough for the day. "Wake me in ten minutes." 

"How about Viagra as a present, ojii-san," Ohno says, and Aiba closes his eyes to the sight of Jun hurtling his manga at Ohno's head.

~

"Okay, first, I'm not your errand boy," Nino starts to say, when he comes into the kitchen, clutching two handfuls of plastic bags. "Secondly, I--"

"Ooh!" Aiba rushes over, abandoning his book on the coffee table. "Did you get everything I asked for?"

"Not the curry powder. Who puts curry powder in a cake?"

"Give me some credit," Aiba protests. "It wasn't for the cake. It was for the main course. I want to try out this new recipe. Curry mabo tofu."

"Save it for Sho's birthday," Nino says. He unloads items, one by one, from his parcels. Eggs, milk, flour, chocolate chips, cocoa powder... fresh mangos, dried plums, watermelon, Jun's favourite fruits. Also a really nice red wine with a French name Aiba can't pronounce, but that Ogura-san had assured him Jun would enjoy.

"Aren't we a bit too old for birthday parties, really?" Nino asks, hopping onto a stool and watching Aiba tie on an apron.

"People can be too old for birthdays when they're dead in the ground," Aiba says.

Nino flashes a wry grin. "Very morbid. I'm impressed, Aiba-san."

Aiba eyes him. "Are you going to help me bake?"

"No," says Nino, and Aiba's not surprised at all. "I just want to watch you sashaying around the kitchen. Like a good little wife."

"Oi."

"Cooking for her husband."

"I'm a husband too!"

"Animal husbandry, maybe."

The wooden spoon in Aiba's hand finds a target on Nino's head. "I don't know what that means but I want you to shut up."

"This is domestic violence," Nino whines, ducking as Aiba tries to hit him again with his hand for good measure. "I'm going to report you to the police." 

Aiba sticks out his tongue, and before he can fully pull away, Nino's grabbed his wrist in an unexpectedly tight grip.

"Aiba-chan. You're happy, aren't you?" he asks, brows quirked up in that I-just-want-to-make-sure expression that Aiba's more used to seeing on Nino's face when Nino's confirming the state of Aiba's sanity.

"I," Aiba says, swallowing. "I am. Like, I really am." He hesitates, all of the sudden feeling the stone cold soberness of fear. He can't forget that it was Nino who had been hesitant, who had lashed out first at the suggestion of the house. Aiba watches him carefully these days, and Nino looks to be enjoying himself, doesn't seem to be regretting his decision, but how can Aiba know for sure without peeling out Nino's brain?

"Aren't you happy too?" Aiba asks. 

Nino's tiny smile grows. "I'm always happy."

"Don't do that. Tell me the truth."

"The truth? I said I'm happy. Don't I look happy?" And he's edging a full-fledged grin now, watching Aiba squirm in self-consciousness, so of course he looks happy. He looks delighted. "Despite what you may think of me, Aiba-san," he says, voice still teasing, "I really like it when you're happy. You have fun in this place, I can tell. I just don't want you to mess things up with your own stupidity."

Aiba straightens, frowning, trying to pull his right arm back, but Nino holds fast. 

"Stupidity about what? Nino."

Nino's smile doesn't change, doesn't shift a single inch, but his gaze flits down, to Aiba's frozen wrist in his grasp, pale fingers curled like a bracelet around Aiba's more tanned skin, and Aiba can't help the unbidden thought from shooting through him jaggedly: sadness. Nino looks sad. 

"Sometimes I think that we're not good enough for you," Nino says. It's an admission. 

Aiba reels. "What? That is totally, completely, the most dumb, most impossible thing I've ever heard, Nino! How can you even _think_ that?"

Nino shrugs, carelessly despondent. "It's not like I want to, you know. Don't make me out to be some sort of -- pessimistic drama queen or something. It's just that this house was your idea, not ours, and _don't_ fish for compliments about that anymore because obviously all of us being here means that it's good, but still, there's a--" he sucks in his lips and tosses his hair back nervously. "You know what? This is idiotic, I can't explain it. I'm just in a bad mood today. Why did you make me spend money on groceries? I don't even like Jun."

A fish hook of sympathy tugs sharply at Aiba's heart. This is a barb-wired Nino here in his hands, shielding his soft innards; a Nino who moved in more out of lack of argument than any real enthusiasm, and yet is still doing his best to make this place his home without looking back. It doesn't take a genius to see what's drawing Nino isn't so much the location or the house itself, but what's inside it. This jerk, who's put so much love in so few people, and still gets wordlessly scared about things splitting up no matter how much he tries to hide it, has laid out his heart's chances on Aiba's dumb vision -- and Aiba should do more to let him know that he appreciates Nino's decision. That _he_ believes it was the right one to make. 

"I'm happy here, but it’s not so much about the house," he says, plowing through Nino's blatant attempt at misdirection. "It’s you guys being here too. I love you guys because you guys make me feel good and always will." And as if to substantiate his claim, he flips his forearm over and encircles his own right fingers around Nino's left wrist: a clasping handshake. "Does that ease your worries, Nino-chan?"

"What kind of person do you take me for?" Nino says, which isn't an answer at all.

"One of my favourite kinds," Aiba says: open, guileless. At least one of them should be. 

Nino meets his eyes resolutely, unblinking, face neither impressed nor disappointed, but then he nods once, sharply, and dips his chin to brush a petal-soft kiss on the back of Aiba's hand. 

~

It was, with hindsight, bound to happen sometime. No matter how well the five of them get along with each other, the years between them stretched like a warm blanket, there to hug and hold and fall back on if need be, they're still nothing more than human, and thus: conflict, inevitably. 

The Sunday evening of Jun's birthday; it's almost 10:30, and they're still missing a fifth of the group.

"Leader! Everyone else is home already. Where are you?" Aiba says into the phone. He can't help the frisson of distress from running through his voice, because the food is cooling and the candles on the cake (Aiba was hasty, he'd stuck them in too far ahead of time) are drooping, and the "guests of honour" are shifting from general boredom to minor irritation. Sho's hungry, Nino's tired and cranky, and Jun feels burdened for Sho's hunger and Nino's crankiness because it's his birthday party. He'd wanted to cut the cake over half an hour ago, but Aiba had insisted that they wait for Ohno. 

"Oh," says Ohno's mildly surprised voice. "That was today."

"Yes! It's _today_. Where are you?"

“Not tomorrow.”

“His birthday’s today, Oh-chan!”

“I know, but I thought -- ah, no.”

There’s a frown pulling hard on Aiba’s lips. “Where are you, then?”

"At home."

Aiba whips his head around, bewildered. "You are? What? Where?"

"No. I'm at home. At my parents'."

"Oh," says Aiba, startled. "Oh. Well, are you coming back here anytime soon?"

A long pause. "We're having shabu-shabu. With lettuce and mushrooms."

"We've got _cake_. If you wanted shabu-shabu, you could have just said! I would've gotten it for you. Jun wouldn't mind, I'm sure."

"It's okay."

"So, what," Aiba jokes, "you're just going to stay there for tonight? Have fun and see you tomorrow or something?"

"Yeah," agrees Ohno, which isn't the answer Aiba wanted.

"No, wait wait! Don't hang up," he says in panic. "It's -- you're really not coming? But it's Jun's birthday!"

"I wished him happy birthday already this morning," Ohno says. "I called him."

"Sure, but. But that's not the same as being here. If you had to visit your parents, you could have phoned beforehand and let us know, Leader. We could have rescheduled or something!"

"But why is it such a big deal?" Ohno asks. "I've missed lots of your parties before. It's never been… since I. I mean. Why is it so bad now, and not before?"

A balloon of air starts to expand inside Aiba’s chest, constricting his breathing.

“Uh. It’s not that it’s not okay -- I just thought it’d be nice, since we’re all together in this house now, to have a nice occasion together, like a family.”

As soon as he hears the words come out of his mouth, he can barely keep from wincing at how pathetic he sounds. It probably comes out as doubly silly to Ohno, who is at this minute sitting with his real family (not that Arashi isn’t real, of course Arashi is real, but Ohno’s parents -- there is no substitution, no comparison, and Aiba gets that, he really does, but he’d just thought -- he'd thought Ohno would show up, that’s all) and waiting to get back to them.

“Is that idiot coming or not!” Nino’s voice shouts from the kitchen, followed by a sharp smack of palm against skull. “Ow, what! You were wondering too.”

“Tell him he can come anytime,” Sho calls out. “We’ll save a piece of cake for him.”

“Was that Sho-kun?” Ohno asks. “And Nino, before?”

“Yeah,” Aiba says, swallowing past the clogging lump in his throat. “They said you could come home anytime. We’ll save a piece of cake for you.”

If there ever was a time for Ohno to revaluate and change his mind, say, “No, no, I’ll come, I’ll be there soon,” and mend up the disappointment slashing through Aiba’s chest, now would be it. Aiba can even hear the exact intonation that Ohno would use: a little put-upon, rounded out by a pout of his lower lip, but calm, complacent: Ohno Satoshi’s usual brand of unexaggerated happiness. 

What Ohno says is, “All right. Thanks, see you guys later. Bye bye.” And he hangs up.

When Aiba returns to their table, Jun has sliced up the cake into six large pieces and two small ones. He drops one of the bigger pieces on a plate and holds it out to Aiba first. Aiba takes it, mustering up a smile. 

“Oh-chan’s staying at his parents’ tonight," he says.

Jun shrugs, “That’s fine,” but a tiny furrow appears between his newly-plucked eyebrows. Aiba’s heart jumps, only just noticing it; had Jun bothered to _look nice_ for today? For this?

“Figures,” Nino says, head lolling back on his shoulders. “I wondered how long it would take him.”

“To do what,” Sho asks, sticking a thick chunk of cake in his mouth. “This is really, really good, Aiba.”

“Thanks!” Aiba says, brightened for a moment by Sho’s clear enjoyment of his baking. 

“You added raisins, huh,” Nino comments, taking a pigeon-peck nibble of his share. He gets the two smaller pieces because Jun apparently decided they’d pushed Nino far enough today by usurping over half an hour of his gaming time while waiting for Ohno to show up, so it’s best not to force him to eat more than he’s willing. “It’s not bad.”

“Such high praise!” Aiba says.

“Glad you left out the ground cumin.”

“Okay, yeah, you can stop rubbing it in now.” Is it Aiba’s fault that ground cumin looks pretty much identical to cinnamon and for some reason Jun bought a spice rack that holds forty square glass containers all of the exact same shape and then arranged them by colour? No.

They finish eating in midst of casual conversation, and it's only a little awkward. Immediately after Jun declares himself full and thanks Aiba for the effort, Nino pushes away his remaining third of a slice and heads upstairs to his room. Jun wraps up Nino's leftovers, plus the two pieces kept for Ohno, and puts them in the fridge. He pauses by Aiba, sliding an arm over Aiba's shoulder, and pecks a kiss on Aiba's lips.

"It was nice," he says, smiling briefly, before he heads upstairs too.

Aiba looks to Sho after Jun's footsteps on the stairs have gone silent. Sho says, "He meant it, Aiba, I swear he did."

Aiba laughs once. "Yeah, I know."

But it doesn't stop him from feeling a little like a failure.

~

Jun is waiting -- cross-legged, chest bare, face blank -- in the big bed when Aiba steps out of the bathroom, still wet from his shower.

"Hi," Aiba quips lamely.

"Hi," returns Jun. He's wearing a pair of silk pajama bottoms, pure black, and his white-rose skin against the mossy shade of Aiba's blankets is jarringly gorgeous, almost ethereal. Aiba swallows, hard.

"Uh, so you--"

"Let's get one thing straight, please," Jun interrupts, tapping a quick rhythm of fingers on bended knee. "Ohno not coming today was not your fault. He loves his parents, and we all know he would prioritize them over us. He's always been like that. He left me a message this morning wishing me happy birthday, then mentioned that he had to go pick up some ingredients for his mom, so I was hardly surprised he didn't show up. Neither were Nino and Sho. It was fine. So you can stop feeling guilty about it."

"I'm not--!"

"You are though, because it's you, and you're really obvious," says Jun. 

Aiba feels the hand holding onto his towel clench onto the fabric, squeezing. He takes in a breath, feeling embarrassed at being caught out and indignant at getting flack for it. "Well, so what if I was? I can't be disappointed by stuff? I'm being the bad guy or something? I just wanted you to have a great party, Matsujun!"

"I don't need a great party. Or even a party, or presents. I like to know my friends and family care about me, and I like nice, relaxing evenings where no one shoves my age in my face and expects me to sit through the entire Happy Birthday song. And I got that, so it was good."

"But Oh-chan didn't even _show u_ \--"

"Him not coming tonight doesn't mean he doesn't care about us," Jun says quickly, like a knife cleaving through butter. He narrows his eyes in consideration. "You understand that, don't you?"

Aiba does. Of course he does. But at the same time, he doesn't. He doesn't understand why someone would choose not to be with his loved ones on their special day. He doesn't understand why Ohno didn't respect Aiba's party enough to even drop by and have a slice of cake. Ohno's parents are awesome and there's no denying that, but it's just _shabu-shabu_ , with ordinary ingredients; Ohno's mom could literally make that anytime. For Ohno to prefer spending his evening doing something completely mundane with this parents rather than celebrating a hallmark occasion with them in their shared house -- that has to mean something, right? It has to mean that this house isn't as important to Ohno as it is to the others. That's what Aiba understands. He can't empathize. 

Jun's lips press into a taut line. "It's kind of like... everyone has different tolerances to spicy food, right? Sho-chan loves it but can't take it well. Ohno likes it fine but can eat insane amounts of it. You and I aren't good with it and you like it sometimes; I don't. Sometimes, things can be like that. We all have different preferences. You love being in this house, and you're pretty much thriving here like a pig in a mud puddle. Ohno loves this place too, but he can't take so much of it, non-stop. He lived with his parents for most of his life, remember. He's always going to think of that place as home."

And that's what it comes down to, isn't it? Ohno had called his parent's house as _home_. Aiba had never heard him refer to this place as home. Only "the big house" or "Chiba" or "our place." Never "home." That's what's digging at Aiba, caught on his insides like a thistle on wool. 

"That was a rather juvenile analogy, Jun-kun," Sho says, peeking his head into the room.

"You do better then," Jun tosses back. 

"Introversion versus extroversion. Relating our capacity of drawing energy from others or from within. And how Satoshi-kun might be overwhelmed doing too much in this house so soon. Something like that."

"Don't make Ohno out to be some baby. And how long would it take you to explain everything with that?"

"What? Not even one minute! How long could it possibly take?"

"This isn't T no Arashi. I just wanted to make a point."

"Fine, and?" Sho asks, gaze darting to Aiba like a first-timer presenter scoping his audience's reaction. "Did you make it?"

"Okay okay, I get it, I get it," says Aiba, more sharply than he intended. He shifts on his feet, half wanting to sit down somewhere, half wanting to get out of the room entirely until he has a better grasp of his own emotions. He feels suffocated, and is afraid he might get angry at Jun or Sho, when the person Aiba is most angry at is himself, for setting the bar so high _again_ , and completely forgetting that everyone is jumping from different heights. Is Aiba really so immature? Are his desires really so far removed from the others'?

"I'll stop feeling guilty," Aiba says. "And I'm not mad at Oh-chan." He's unsure if this is the truth or not, but he wants it to be, and from the relieved looks on Sho and Jun's faces, Aiba's said the right thing. So that's enough for now. If they can believe it, then Aiba will too. He pastes on a smile. "Let's just call it a nice night, then! And leave it at that. Anything else to talk about?"

"Yes, the reason I'm in the bed, wearing no underwear," Jun says, reclining slowly back upon the blanket, all sinew and grace. "It is still my birthday, don't forget." He points a look at the towel slung low on Aiba's hips, and raises an eyebrow. "You two going to stand there all night or what."

Sho says, in a rush, while tugging furiously at his shirt, "Wait a second, you guys have a head start, hold up. NINO! Get your skinny butt over here!" 

But Aiba only laughs, and drops the towel.

~

He's sprawled out on the bed like a dog in the summer heat, back cushioned by pillows, limbs spread in disarray, neck drooping in fatigue, but his eyes are still as bright as a hawk's, trained on the sight before him: Nino's ass in the air, Sho's fingers leaving red imprints as they clutch at Nino's hips, Sho rutting without restraint into Nino's entrance, practically whining with the exertion. Nino is moaning, a continuous stream of muffled epithets, and Aiba thinks he can hear him saying "harder" and "fuck" and "there," but he's not sure, because Nino's voice is compromised. Jun's on Nino's other end, fisting a tight hold into Nino's hair, jaw loose and grin near-savage as he thrusts his cock again and again down Nino's willing throat. Aiba knows when Nino swallows, because Jun curses and pulls, pets, strokes at Nino's hair; Aiba knows when Nino clenches his ass, because Sho groans unabashedly, like his life is being pulled out of him, and pitches forward to fuck harder.

Aiba's starting to feel like it's _his_ birthday, with the quality of this show.

Ten minutes prior, all three of these insane jerks had gone to town on Aiba _at the same time_ , Jun sucking down Aiba's cock in steady, relentless increments, tongue fluttering on the underside like he was powered by some kind of impossible motor, two long fingers stroking a heartbeat on Aiba's prostate; Nino's hands were clenched with Aiba's as he'd laid trails of sharp-toothed kisses down Aiba's chest, ensuring Aiba's avoidance of low-collar shirts for the next few days, then remapping the texture of Aiba's nipples with his tongue. Sho had been cradling Aiba in his lap, his erection pressing teasing and hot in the small of Aiba's back, as Sho cupped Aiba's neck and kissed Aiba so hard that Aiba went light-headed, gasping for air and sanity and consciousness. 

It hadn't taken long for Aiba to come. Predictably. 

Although it might not take that long for Aiba to get back in the game either, with this kind of stimulation. He's getting up in years, not so keen to go two rounds in one night, but sometimes, exceptions must be made, especially when there's the fucking Olympic gold performance of threesome porn going on right here, within Aiba's reach. 

A thought flits through his head abruptly, like a leaf whipped by a tornado: it'd be even better, if Ohno were here. Aiba feels immediately awful, chastising himself for bringing up that again, when clearly Ohno had made his decision. He has nothing to be ungrateful for. 

It's because he's so adamantly focusing only about the scene in front of him that he doesn't even notice when someone walks into the room. 

"Satoshi," breathes Sho, who sees him first, and Aiba's throat goes dry. Jun whips around, eyes wide, hips stilling, and Nino lifts his head from Jun's cock at that; a thin string of saliva threading from the head of Jun's member to Nino's red, swollen lips. 

Nino wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, "About time."

"Ah. Sorry I'm late," Ohno mumbles, and Aiba's unsure if he really means it or if it's just polite habit. 

"How was dinner with your parents?" Jun asks wryly.

"Good. The food was great."

"There's cake in the fridge, if you want."

"Thanks. Did Jun-kun enjoy his party?"

"I did, thank you."

"This is truly a stellar reunion moment we're having here," Nino butts in, "but I think the appropriate term for the situation is 'put out or shut up,' okay?" He arches his back, and in the same smooth motion, sucks Jun's cock back into his mouth. Jun and Sho groan in unison.

Ohno smiles slightly, watching, then takes a seat beside Aiba, at the head of the bed, and starts unfastening his belt.

"Oh-chan," Aiba croaks, unsure of what to say, if anything. He settles with the obvious. "You came after all."

Ohno lifts off his shirt and gifts Aiba with a tilted grin over his bare shoulder. "Well. I thought about it, and thought it'd be good to come in the end."

"Why's that?"

"Didn't want to sleep over. It was nice to see my mom and dad, but." He scratches his nose. "There's a perfectly good bed right here."

He turns to Aiba, fully nude now, and reaches for him, leaning in for a long, slow kiss. Aiba lets himself be swept into it, whimpering as Ohno bites gently at Aiba's lips, sings a wordless spell to Aiba's tongue. Maybe it's an apology. Maybe it's a statement. Ohno's never been big on words, but interpreting his body language still sometimes alludes Aiba; he is forever caught off guard by just how much Ohno can feel, and keeps hidden. 

"I was kind of mad at you, before," Aiba admits, voice hushed, when Ohno finally pulls away. Aiba's panting, trying to catch his breath, but he's helpless in his shame. "I thought you didn't care about the house or something, so you were trying to avoid the party. I was kind of over-reacting. Silly, huh?"

Ohno's hand, cool and affectionate, curls around Aiba's neck, thumb tracing Aiba's jaw.

"Maybe you think too hard about it," Ohno says lightly. "It's not that complicated."

"What isn't?"

Ohno presses closer and gives Aiba another kiss, a small one, close-mouthed and soft and lingering. "It's not about the house at all. It's just a house. But you're here, so I wanted to be here too." 

His hand finds its way stroking down Aiba's neck, collarbone, chest; and there it stops. Aiba shivers, but says nothing, thinks no coherent thought, cannot even pull in another gulp of air as Ohno raises a long, elegant finger, and taps twice on Aiba's left breast, over his heart.

"I -- I'm not sure I get it," Aiba whispers, but his eyes burn hot with the potential of tears.

Ohno reassures him with a smile. "That's okay. Sorry," he says, and kisses him again, pulling Aiba to him with open arms. 

~

The bed is large and they are thin, but still they're five full-grown men, so it's a tight squeeze to keep them all on the mattress in more or less the same orientation. Half of Jun's left arm is hanging off the left side of the bed; Sho's entire right leg juts out like the crooked limb of one of Nino's action figure collectibles. Nino is practically lying on top of Ohno, and Aiba is amazed that Ohno can breathe properly, with his nose mashed into Nino's shoulder like that. The room is stifling. They forgot to open a window and now everyone's too tired to get up. Aiba is sore and sticky all over. He can't even move, squished like an overheated sardine between Jun and Ohno. 

He feels perfect.

"Good birthday," Jun says weakly, rolls to his side, and promptly falls asleep.

"Good birthday," Aiba agrees, but his mind is already miles away, whirring, dreaming, flying on homemade craft-feather wings, planning their next celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it took me to finish this, everyone. However you might be happy to know that chapter 4 is being edited right now so will be up very soon! :) As ever, thank you for sticking with me for so long. And muchas gracias, lo siento, te quiero to my beta taykash who gave me the world's best encouragement with this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

Here's something that Aiba hadn't expected as a result of sharing a house with Arashi: an expansion of his vocabulary (thanks, Sho-chan). 

Beauteous (adj.): being pleasant to experience with one's senses, notably sight, and evoking emotional admiration. Examples: The sun setting over the Tokyo skyline, beaded with the lights of the city. The season's first bloom of sakura trees: pink flowers dabbed in the thousands over black branch backdrops, fallen petals littering the sidewalks like a dusting of winter snow. The smooth jut of Nino's chin peeking out behind Aiba's green-slipped pillows; that smooth curve of skin dipping down to the delicious bump of Nino's Adam's apple, right before the rest of Nino's neck is lost as a tease under Aiba's blanket. 

Felicity (n.): the feeling of intense happiness or joy. Examples: Winning the aerosol game in the last ten seconds of a missed-point streak during Super Arashi Spree. Bringing back a segment of A no Arashi on ARASHIATIC! because a class of ten-year-olds wrote in a handwritten letter, signed by their teacher, who was a fan since Arashi's debut -- and then getting to _visit_ that class for the taping. Coming home with a growling stomach to find dinner freshly served, the air infused with the spicy aromas of Jun's exotic recipe of the week, and having Sho hand Aiba a bottle of cold beer, smiling in understanding at Aiba's full-bodied sigh of relief. 

Stupefaction (n.): a state of great astonishment, often involving dulling of one's faculties. Examples: Caused by stepping out onto your first national concert stage ever and taking in the number of people screaming for you and your group. Caused by the news that Tokyo Tower would be lit up in the Arashi's colours for one night, a beacon and symbol proclaimed to the entire world. From walking into Ohno's studio to see a newly completed set of portraits, five half-turned slices of faces, each portraying separate but similar expression of happiness—drawn from Ohno's memory so they're not photorealistic but are achingly recognizable—and admiring all that captured joy, then being told that Ohno is getting them _framed_ for the _house_.

Nowadays, everywhere Aiba turns, he's confronted with more reasons to expand his definition of happiness.

This is not idealism speaking. Aiba can list, from the top of his head, at least five habits of each other member that he could happily do without. Nino still games to the point that food is a lower priority than the health bar of his character sprite. Jun gets riled so easily up by the smallest messes and he hates to apologize first. Sho comes home sometimes reeking like an entire bar and the bar's back alley. Ohno goes fishing without thinking to tell anyone beforehand. And Aiba’s far from a prince himself. While sleeping he can make all manner of noises: talking, burping, farting, whining – Nino has even said once he woke up in their shared hotel room to the sound of Aiba neighing, but Aiba’s not so sure about that. 

But these bad habits are what make up the people Aiba loves, and there is something so wonderful in that, that Aiba is allowed to see every side of Arashi, viewed from every possible angle, under every type of lighting. Aiba hoards every piece and parcel with a ferocious and protective greed; he'd never give up any of these secrets to even the most reputable journals. Not even if the Emperor _begged_. 

Nino calls him hopeless and simple-minded, but Aiba knows there are plenty of worse things to be. 

For him, these halcyon days are the kind that poets must have once experienced and were then burdened to make immortal.

In September, Jun, in a fit of health food mania, decides to build a garden in the backyard so he can have a ready supply of organic ingredients for his recipes. It’s too late for anything to grow this year, but for next year’s spring crop, the timing is perfect. He comes home with little seed packets for every type of vegetable under the sun: tomatoes, green beans, radishes, green onions. He and Sho spend an entire Sunday morning outside, Sho building a chicken-wire fence to the best of his construction-challenged ability, and Jun laying out planting soil in the centre plot of the yard that's swimming in sunlight for most of the day. They buy a miniature greenhouse to frame a smaller patch of the garden, where Jun wants to grow some roses. With the nourishing warmth of the sun and the blessings of the moist sea air, it doesn't take long at all for some thin, young tendrils to start sprouting from the ground. Jun is convinced that they won't grow much further before the approaching dip in temperature halts their development, but he can't keep the small, satisfied grin off his face as he boasts of another newly unfurled stem, or a freshly uncovered shoot. Ohno in particular is struck by the entire process, and sometimes Aiba wanders to the kitchen window, yawning, to see a silhouette squatting in the garden, crouched over the tiny litter of vegetation. White sketchbook balanced on his knees, the tips of his hair lit aflame by the early morning light, Ohno is ethereal: his head bent forward with the greatest concentration as his hand darts in short, fluid movements across his paper. 

Sho starts work on his newest video memory compilation; he's got footage collected on phone, camera, and handheld alike, and it takes him hours just to transfer all the files to his computer. Sho's always been big on documenting events, family vacations, foreign trips, Arashi backstage at key events, and he takes meticulous care in dating and cataloguing everything -- a trip isn't finished for him until he's got a warm, filled DVD in his hand, freshly burned. He likes to make slideshows and music videos; the right song or screen transition can be a source of contention for him that lasts days on end. Sometimes he asks for opinions -- does Ohno like the screentone that washes everything in a shade of ocean blue, does Nino like this instrumental and if not, does he know any songs of a similar type, does Jun like any of this _period_ \-- but mostly it's hard to keep up with his editing style. Sho pieces together videos in M.C. Escher order, starting from the end, skipping till the beginning, then hopping to and fro in between like a bee in a field of flowers. His scribbles his notes on post-its, and his writing is beautiful but his words are disjointed: _IMG102 = A, IMG394 = AA or AB or maybe red/orange leaves in that violin soundtrack, 52 seconds after head_. Aiba can't parse the language at all, but he can't deny the success of Sho's efforts. His videos are always beautiful things, photos laid out in film-perfect order, music matching dynamically every step of the way. Whatever trouble the man has with expressing sentiments verbally, they fall by the wayside when he's placed in front of video editing software. He has a flare for the cinematic and a knack for capturing the best candid moments on film, and he knows how to wield his abilities to deadly results: for the past three Arashi concerts that Sho had condensed into ten minute movies, Aiba had started oozing tears not even halfway through.

So he's deliriously eager, but kind of scared, to see the final product of this project. Sho's pre-emptively titled it _There's No Place Like..._ and Aiba knows he'll need a full box of tissues to get through it. 

Around the house, the five of them fall quickly into a housework pattern acceptable for all parties. Jun cleans the most, unsurprisingly, but they all do their part to pitch in. It's their years of cooperation, coming through for them again, and Aiba is grateful. He'd wondered, maybe, if it would be hard to reconcile the neat and tidy laws of Matsumoto Jun with not only the slobbish arrogance of Sakurai Sho, but also the lazy freestyling of Ninomiya Kazunari -- the latter being voted as more infuriating to deal with a score of four to one. But to the shock of all except apparently Ohno, Nino does a decent job at keeping the house clean and functioning when he wants to. Perhaps it's only preventative measures, like he doesn't want to piss off the people who have easy access to his entire library of video games, but it's not rare for Aiba to come home to find the fridge full of groceries in Nino's go-to brands, the garbage taken out, and the table, last seen strewn with debris from the previous night's botched attempt at strip poker, to be cleaned and redressed with Ugly Vase and bamboo coasters. When he's in a gaming mood, which is often enough, Nino sometimes acts more as a piece of furniture than a member of the household, but he's mellow about it and allows himself to be used as Ohno's backrest or Jun's gossip hag (not that Jun gossips, but sometimes a bad mood can only be resolved by rolling oneself through a muddy pond of insults directed at incompetent coworkers, for which Nino, of course, is the perfect company), without more than a brief grunt that means, "I'll allow your presence here but I'm not really paying attention to you; take it or leave it." The gaming isn't a huge issue, either. Nino plus games is the longest-standing relationship in Arashi, and they can no more begrudge Nino's crippling addiction to it than hold Ohno back from going out to sea. They need to do those things to stay sane, so Aiba indulges the nights of Nino screaming insults into his headset, or crowing obnoxiously at his own skill, with the assurance that all is right with his friend. Sometimes, there's a treat: if Nino's lost particularly badly on an online game, he'll take out his anger by tenderizing meat and dicing onions to pulp. It's beyond Aiba's limits to picture what Nino's imagining while he pummels kitchen tools on undeserving ingredients, but it ends up with a delicious dinner and a Nino who refuses to talk about games for the rest of the night, so Aiba shamelessly love it. 

Nino's presence, too, has an enabling effect on Ohno. Nino being around the house all the time seems to encourage Ohno to hang around more often too, instead of defaulting to his usual leisure activities: frequenting his parents’ or the bar hopping circuit. For all the agreeableness and submissiveness that Ohno displays during their shows and interviews, he’s not actually Arashi’s doormat. Ohno is agreeable because he doesn’t mind doing something when he would probably, in its stead, be doing nothing, or nothing very different. His mind is slow sifting sand and he rarely takes initiative for activities other than fishing or art, but when he does happen to have his mind set on doing something, it's impossible to pull him away from it. The sand hardens to solid glass, and he is unswayable. Weekly dinner with his parents, beers with an old dance school friend, going out to catch the ocean daybreak after a lush red sunset the night before – if these are things that Ohno wants to do, he will do them, and care little for what he may be missing at the same time. Jun's birthday had been a prime example of this. Aiba had followed Sho and Jun's instructions dutifully and not let the event bother him again, especially since Ohno did actually show up in the end, but sometimes Aiba thinks about it. He supposes it’s not that Ohno doesn’t feel a certain responsibility to be present, but he doesn’t believe that his actually being present will improve the event in any worthwhile manner. In the past, Aiba has tried multiple times to cure Ohno out of this case of painful humility, explaining to Ohno how him just being anywhere made that place so much better, and Ohno just laughs softly every time, placing a gentle hand on Aiba’s head or shoulder or wrist, saying, “Thanks, Aiba-chan.” But he doesn’t take Aiba’s sincerity to heart -- so Aiba begins to learn, after much observation, just how Nino manages to get Ohno to do whatever Nino wants.

It’s really amazing. Ohno’s nature being what it is, he's much more susceptible to gentle persuasion than outright demands, but Nino does neither. Nino does things like steer where Ohno’s walking by bumping their shoulders together, diverting him from, say, the kitchen, to the TV, where Nino wants to ruin Ohno on Tekken. Nino will say things like, “Okay, let’s just go then,” plural, including Ohno already, and when he stands up to leave, Ohno will follow. They’ll be standing around, talking about ridiculous things, with Ohno nearly bent at 45 degrees because Nino is leaning his entire weight on Ohno’s shoulder, and when Aiba asks them what their plans are, Nino will straight away answer, “We’re going to practise magic,” when Aiba _knows_ Ohno had wanted to go to the fishing supply store. Situations like that end up Ohno _not_ missing out on Aiba’s first attempt at making cheese casserole and Nino taking Ohno to the fishing store another day. It’s as if Nino fills up the empty spaces in Ohno’s mind, tilting the balance of his thoughts to Nino’s favour, who almost always does things for his and Ohno’s combined benefit. They match in an undeniable way; it’s weird and incredible and Aiba will never not be mesmerized by their relationship. 

“Wow, can you stop staring at me,” says Nino, even though his eyes have been trained on the television screen for the past fifteen minutes. He’s immersed in his game.

“I’m being contemplative, shut up,” says Aiba.

“Go be contemplative somewhere else. I need to concentrate.”

“Why? Just so you can beat that 11-year-old kid who whupped your ass last night?”

“He had a head start! A whole minute’s head start! And he didn’t have you molesting Oh-chan a metre away from my face!”

“Pfft. Excuses, Nino,” says Aiba. Nino uncurls a leg and attempts to kick Aiba blindly. Aiba laughs and squirms away. 

“Oh my God, those dumbass birds will not leave the garden alone!” Jun shouts, storming in from the patio door. He throws his gardening gloves onto the kitchen counter as if they're on fire. “I need to set a trap. A scarecrow. Aiba,” he calls out, “make me a scarecrow.”

“Okay, sure,” says Aiba, seeking out Jun in the kitchen and stealing a sip of water from the cup in Jun’s hand. “I’ll let you decide on what it wears because my fashion taste is too cool.”

“I’ll raid Sho and Ohno’s closet.”

“I heard that!” says Sho, who is lying spread-eagle, prostrate on the living room rug.

“Sho-chan, I think you should give up on yoga,” Aiba says to him. “It really seems to hurt you.”

“It’s a good pain,” lies Sho. “I managed three different positions today.” He holds up his hand and Aiba skips over to give him a high-five. “Yay.”

“Yay you. Will you be able to walk tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Last week Sho had decided to try yoga, pressured by his occasional desire to decrease the inflexibility that's cursed his entire life. He’d failed to stretch afterwards and had woken up with muscles so stiff that Nino had to spend ten minutes trying to loosen him out and Ohno had to bring breakfast to their room.

“Maybe you could go to a trainer,” Aiba suggests.

“I’m not that advanced yet.”

“But you don’t need to be at any level for a trainer?”

Sho flops over onto his front with all the grace of a fish on a slab of pavement. “Can you give me a massage, please,” he says miserably. Aiba does.

After a while, Sho starts snoring, and Aiba is about to leave him when Ohno toddles in with fresh paint stained on every one of his fingers. A minute later and the two of them are painting dirty words all over the back of Sho’s white t-shirt.

These are the moments that Aiba never wants to end.

~

They do, though. Aiba lives in reality, not fantasy land. In reality, so few things last forever. 

The announcement comes to them from Sho's mouth first because he's the human avatar of newspapers. There’s a panicked call at 7:45 that morning, which quickly grows into a conference: Aiba heading to his set for early day filming, Nino at his old apartment because he’d been out all night training for his new role in a cop movie, Ohno and Jun still at the Chiba house, and Sho parked at a random conbini somewhere en route to Tokyo, where he’d stopped to pick up coffee and papers. 

“What do the other headlines say?” Jun’s voice asks tersely.

Aiba's heart beats a booming drum in his ears, in the hollow of his chest. He feels like he's falling.

“Arashi’s secret home, hidden away in Chiba,” Sho reads. His tone is hard, steely. “Arashi living in the same house? Evidence from Chiba.” There’s the faint sound of rustling paper over the phone. “Arashi purchased Chiba house together in real-life houseshare. And these are only the physical papers. I’m sure the web is exploding right now.”

“Someone should check."

No one volunteers.

"Whose car did they follow?" Jun asks flatly.

"I don't know. They don't show pictures of the cars in the driveway."

"Shit," breathes Nino. "Here come the phone calls. Ignore, ignore, ignore." There are a series of beeping sounds.

"Block incoming calls, idiot," says Jun.

"Who's still at home?" Sho asks. "Satoshi-kun?"

"Just him and me," says Jun. "Fuck, there's a guy with a camera outside. By the front gate."

"Can you go out through the back?"

"Ye-es," Jun says, though he doesn't sound at all pleased about it. "Guess it’d be better to avoid confrontation right now, anyway."

"Okay, but, what do we do," Aiba says, a high note of rising panic in his voice. In his mind, this situation has always loomed as a terrible possibility, but for it to be here, literally at his doorstep -- he's not prepared. He hasn't even fully processed it yet; all he knows is that he's confused and there's fear snapping at his periphery, much too close. That sinking yank in the stomach that you get when you're tripping over your feet and you can't envision a good landing -- that's what Aiba's got right now. "What do we say if we get asked about it?"

"Let's say it's a summer house, then," Ohno suggests, the first words he's offered all conversation. "For resting and relaxing."

"I was thinking along those lines too. I think that's the best option," says Sho. "It's too late to deny the house. Should we say that it's actually Aiba's house, and we're just infrequent visitors?"

Something clogs up Aiba's throat, which he hastily swallows down. 

"It's more believable that way," agrees Jun. 

"We should keep answers brief," adds Nino. "This means you, Sho-chan."

"Hey. I'm actually the one with the most experience in news, you know."

"So," interrupts Jun. "Summer house. Aiba's. Is that enough? We'll talk more about it tonight, but that should hold us over till then. Be sure to mention that you've still kept your permanent residence in Tokyo if you can. Now I've got to go."

"Yeah, yeah," says Nino. "Bye." He clicks off, followed by Jun and Ohno.

"Aiba," says Sho's lone voice, which now sounds oddly small, as if he's a tiny person an enormous distance away. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," Aiba says. He clears his throat, and just because he thinks it's important, he repeats it: "Yeah."

~

There's this feeling you get when you're at the beach and you've spent precious hours building a beautiful sand castle, complete with working moat, turrets, windows, and even a paper-napkin-driftwood-stick flag on top, and then some bully comes waddling by and kicks the whole thing down before your very eyes. You can try to stop him but even a slight touch to a corner can send the whole thing crashing perilously down, and when it does, then you're left on your knees, lap half-covered with what used to be your medieval fantasy come alive. Then the high tide comes in and washes all traces of your castle away into a clean sand slate, as if it'd never been there at all. 

You knew going in, when you filled your first bucket with moist sand, at just the right packing consistency, that destruction was a risk, but you hadn't cared, because you wanted to build that castle so badly. You wanted to bring your creation into the world. And for a few beautiful moments, you had; in them, you'd been allowed to bask in pride at your accomplishment, before it all came crumbling down.

Better to have made and lost, or to have kept that image of your castle forever in your head, where it would have lived on, untarnished?

Aiba doesn't know, but he supposes he'll have an opinion before the day is up.

~

So.

It’s both worse than and not as bad as Aiba expects.

It takes a day for the impact of the news to fully hit. In the space of that day, Aiba goes from low-radar mentionable to paparazzi gold, from hapless bystander to escaped convict, from a name mentioned with fondness to a name gasped in scandal. He starts planning his routes to and from places with meticulous care, and dodges the flashes of cameras like they're projectiles being hurled at him. But some confrontation is unavoidable: as an idol, his work schedule is easy to find for the people who know how to look, and arriving at television buildings starts resembling the red carpet of a movie premiere with how many cameras are waiting for him. Baseball caps, sunglasses, a head bent low, these are Aiba's best defenses, but his fortress isn't impenetrable -- there are questions. Lots of questions. Enough questions that they're physical impediments from Aiba getting his jobs on time, and it causes inconvenience to the people he's working with. Security has be rounded up to keep the journalists from trespassing onto his drama sets, the magazine studios, and Aiba is humiliated and horrified, but he soldiers on the best he can, bowing in apology to his directors and coworkers every chance he gets. He checks his phone religiously, but deletes a large portion of the messages as per his manager's orders. They'd had a tense, miserable meeting together the day before about organizing reactions, news triage, damage control, and Kakao-san had spent the entire time wearing a deep-set frown. 

"What about the obvious solution?" he'd asked, tapping his stylus with mechanical precision on his tablet computer.

"Not negotiable," Aiba had answered quietly, and tried not to fidget at Kakao-san's heavy sigh.

Aiba sticks to the story. Summer house, bought on a whim, the other members found out and sometimes drop by. But it’s Aiba’s house. Just Aiba’s. Not theirs. 

It’s enough of a truth that it slips off the tongue, and Aiba knows he should be grateful for that. 

The well-oiled media machine being a long-time contemporary of Aiba’s, and with Arashi not exactly a stranger to scandals (although not of this particular variety), the mongering is terrible and headache inducing but not impossible to handle. Mostly Aiba smiles innocently and plays dumb, forcing his body to match the casualness of his face. His days, of course, are jam-packed with activities and though some of them are interviews for magazines, they're preapproved ahead of time and are mostly harmless. It's not like he's being interviewed on Shonen Club Premium or anything, delving into the inner tinkering of his soul, so besides fielding the casual question or the occasional considering look, there's not much else to do except ignore the rumours and keep on keeping on. What he's finding hard to deal with is the guilt. For all of this, Aiba had been the impetus, the driving force. The bomb that he loaded himself has dropped and they missed the chance to duck for cover; now there’s shrapnel everywhere and they’re left to pick up the pieces. Yesterday was spent with half of his brain in nonstop worry for the others: if they were getting hassled too much by paparazzi, if they were staying out of public eye, what kind of answers they were giving, if any -- it had been like waiting for a verdict in court: would this (actually happening, finally happening) crack something between them? If it did, what would it take to repair it? Or would they carry this wound around forever, hidden under their skin? 

They didn't get another chance at a group call until yesterday evening, long after Aiba's schedules were over for the day, and he was having a late night snack at a small, discrete yakiniku bar. All in all, it seemed like they had much the same experience as he did that day: feelings of self-consciousness making them jumpy and paranoid, getting distracted by thoughts of how hard the news would hit Arashi as a unit, negating inquisition with simple answers and naive smiles -- no one mentioned anything about it being too much to handle. 

"This one nosy reporter was blocking my way to the conbini," Nino had said. "I wanted to punch him in the face."

"My parents were wondering why I didn't tell them before," Ohno had said.

"Same with mine," Sho had added. "If you think about it, if it's just a summer house, there isn't a reason for us to keep it a secret. From the media, sure, but not from family. I don't know how my parents took it, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were confused about it all."

"The rumours aren't going to help," Jun had sighed. "Is anyone going back there today? To Chiba?"

Four no's, one maybe. 

When Aiba had driven to the bar, restless and on edge, and saw that night was inescapably bearing down on the sky, he'd wondered if he should go back to the house. He didn't _think_ there'd be any journalists there, waiting for him -- that would be a bit excessive even for hungry photogs -- but a part of him had risen with the brazen attitude of _even if they were there, so what?_ So what if they took pictures of Aiba? It was Aiba's home. He was the one who had a right to park at that house. He could go back, meet the cameras dead in the eye, stand his ground, and make a point. 

So he'd answered maybe, but in the end, didn't go. Kakao-san had even sent him a text: _Stay in Tokyo tonight. Don't make yourself a target._ Maybe he was scared, maybe he didn't trust Aiba to react professionally. Aiba had been too tired to argue. Sho called briefly around midnight to check up on him and reassure him the rest of them were doing all right, and they made stilted small talk until Aiba was yawning. "Go to bed, Aiba-chan," Sho had said quietly, and Aiba felt overcome with helplessness, disgusted at himself somehow for being weak, for being scared, for being alone right now, but the temptation of sleep had won out. His bed in his apartment was tiny compared to the one at home, but it warmed quickly with Aiba fully under its covers, and Aiba purposely swept his mind clean so his dreams would be empty. The day had worn hard on him, with the accumulation of so many small delays accrued by going the long way around busy streets, avoiding searching photographers, taking countless calls from his managers and the company. Kakao-san had warned him that the next day, when the news would really sink in, would be worse, and Aiba had better be prepared for it. 

He'd been right. 

Today is a little busier, with a little more insanity to juggle, but it's exhausting on a huge scale. All the anxiety that Aiba had been keeping inside him from yesterday has gained physical weight overnight, and today it is a tumour, sapping Aiba's strength, pulling his muscles down, making it harder to smile, a bigger effort to move. Mostly he feels like curling up like a three-banded armadillo, protecting its innards from the predators of the cruel world as he waits for the danger to pass. Aiba has been avoiding the internet forums and the tabloid newspapers, but what difference does that make in preventing what's being written about them there? Aiba thinks of Arashi's fans: what are their reactions to all of this? Are they being understanding? Aiba wants to hope yes, and mostly he does think yes, but if even one fan turns away from them because of the news, it will break Aiba’s heart. It will. 

Aiba is a man of many riches and optimism runs through his blood, but there are limits to even how far he can dream.

But somewhat uplifting, two orange buoys in endless stretches of choppy ocean, are the two phone calls that he gets that afternoon. One is from his mother, who scolds him for not telling her he was constantly having guests over, or else she would have sent him a lot more food a lot more often, and then had asks if everyone is settling down okay and enjoying their time there. It isn't so much what she says as how she says it, like it’s no surprise at all that her son has practically shacked up with four other men in a large, out-of-the-way house, and the only inconvenience is that if he had to settle down somewhere in Chiba, why couldn't it have been closer to their restaurant? It’s the exact same mildly exasperated but tolerant attitude that she employed during the days of Aiba's childhood, when she'd come home to see him trying to glue strips of their yellow curtains cut into lightning bolts to the sides of his sneakers (to make them "look faster"), or listen to him announce his life goal of becoming an NBA all-star (a dream that, though impassioned, had not lasted very long). There were no questions of "what are you thinking" or "this can't be done" -- throughout Aiba's whole life, Aiba's mother had always nurtured her son's imaginative mind, and never made him feel like his ideas were too weird or impossible. As long as he was happy, she supported him. It hits him hard, now: she is well past middle-age and still has not changed in this aspect at all, despite her son's supposed maturation into adulthood. 

"I love you, kaa-chan," he tells her, right after she says her goodbye.

"I know, Masa-chan," she says. "You be good, stay strong. Kaa-chan loves you too."

The other call is from Ogura-san, of all people. They still keeps in sporadic contact with, but much less often since he'd officially retired from broadcasting. His call is short, blunt; he asks if everyone is doing well, if they are staying healthy, why no one informed him of the news that an Arashi house was purchased, and expresses his disappointment that he wasn’t consulted to join in as well. Aiba laughs because he knows Ogura-san’s only joking, and that he’s attempting to joke at all is appreciated. As a group, the five of them have come across a wide spread of people of all ages and abilities who’ve helped them get to where they are today, but Aiba has always had a soft spot in his heart for Ogura-san, their kind, perverted grandfather of Arashi no Shukudai-kun and good-natured referee of Shiodome Aibaland. It had been a messy and silly show, but it was uniquely Arashi, and it had meant a lot to Aiba. 

“If you’ll give me the address of the house,” says Ogura-san, “I can send over a congratulatory bouquet.”

“Okay,” Aiba says. By now their address should be easily accessible by anyone who has a hand in the media business, but Ogura-san, as ever, is faultlessly considerate of Arashi’s sensitivities. 

"Aiba-chan. Do you remember the advice I gave you when you got cast for My Girl?"

Aiba laughs sheepishly. They'd stumbled into each other at the TV Asahi building, where Aiba was running late to a meeting with producers for the show. It being his first starring role, he'd been unused to how much time he'd had to devote to filming, and he was running himself ragged with work and lack of sleep. The day he'd met Ogura-san, Aiba's hair was a mess, he had crumbs from breakfast (dinner for him, really) sprinkled around his mouth, and was furiously trying to unscramble the twisted knots of his earphones to his mp3 player, where he'd recorded himself reciting his lines for that afternoon's scenes. It had been one of the most stressful times in his life. Aiba had been desperate to do well in the drama, but he couldn't help being so overcome with everything bearing down on him at once (drama, Doubutsuen, concert practise, PV filming, and everything else Arashi did on the regular) that the tangle of his earphone wires refusing to unwind was actually bringing him to tears. He'd been so caught up on them that he'd bumped straight into Ogura-san as he turned the corner of the hallway. 

Ogura-san had taken one look at him, up and down, and laid his hands on Aiba's shoulders as a steadying weight, looked Aiba straight in the eye, and told him to take a deep breath. 

"You said, 'Everything will pass,'" says Aiba. 

"Yes," says Ogura, and it sounds like he's smiling a little. "So bear with it a little longer, hm? You boys take care of each other, and everything will be fine." 

Aiba hangs up from that call, suddenly missing his house with an ache that's nearly choking.

That evening, when he nervously, warily, pulls up the paved driveway that precedes the detached garage, the house is dark and silent and devoid of life, like the starting scene of any horror movie. But at least there are no photographers around, and when Aiba gets out of the car, he notices a present sitting on the house's front step: Ogura-san's bouquet. A carefully balanced mess of pink and yellow and white; the paper tag labels the flowers as cherry blossoms, yellow buttercups, snowdrops, daisies, and oak leaves, and underneath, written in professionally neat calligraphy, it reads _Congratulations and best wishes for many happy years._

If Aiba's steps are a little lighter when he carries the bouquet through the front door, there's no one around to see.

~

He's on the phone with Jun, listening to Jun complain about his day ("God, this group of girls saw me across the street and screamed so loudly I thought they were going to faint -- I swear I heard one of them say _cute_. I thought I was done with that word after I hit thirty.") when he hears the distant clicking of someone's key turning in the lock and the opening of the door. 

"I'm going to call the police now!" calls out Nino's voice in sing-song. The door slams shut. Aiba's heart leaps.

He pokes his head out of the kitchen. "Nino?"

"A photographer! Outside!" Nino accuses, pointing to the front window, where Aiba has already drawn the curtains. "I saw him sneaking around." He shuffles to the window, ducking low and narrowing in a glance from the edge of the cloth. 

Aiba winces. "Is he gone?" 

"I guess." He turns suspicious eyes towards Aiba. "He wasn't there when you came home?"

"No!"

"Well. Whatever then. What's for dinner?"

"It's past eleven pm!" Jun shouts from the phone.

"It's past eleven," repeats Aiba. "Also, I'm not your housewife. Uh, house-husband."

"I'm hungry though!" whines Nino. He drops down on the carpet right where he's standing, makes himself comfortable, and closes his eyes. "Fine, no food. Okay, good night." 

"Ugh, tell him to shut up," snaps Jun. "I'll come over and pick up something for him."

"Oh?" Aiba says excitedly, then backtracks. "Oh, but Matsujun, maybe you shouldn't. Just in case. Nino got caught already." He's frowning as he says this. 

"I don't think he got any pictures though," Nino pipes up from the floor. "He didn't actually notice me until I told him off for stalking private property. He jumped pretty high."

"What?"

"I walked here from the corner of the street and saw him lurking around, so I started following him, seeing how long it'd take him to notice me. Took him almost four minutes."

" _What?_ "

Nino's lips curl into a sleepy, content smile. "Payback's a bitch."

"He said 'payback's a bitch'! Jun!"

Jun bursts out laughing. "He's such a dick. Sorry, you're right. I guess I'll stay here tonight. I'll call you tomorrow. Pinch Nino for me."

"I will," answers Aiba, his knees cracking as he lowers himself to brush a fond kiss across Nino's temple. Nino grunts softly, the width between his brows wrinkling for a second. The question-mark curl of his body is alarmingly attractive and Aiba finds himself unable to resist; he lies down too, spooning up against Nino's back, tucking his arms around Nino's waist and squeezing lightly. "Thanks for coming by," he whispers to Nino's shoulder blade. There's a whole tear-ridden speech of gratitude and relief compressed in those four simple words, an exaltation to Nino showing up tonight and stalking paparazzi, of all things, but they're all Aiba can manage for now. One tiny person and the house is no longer echoes hollowly with every breath Aiba takes. He pulls Nino closer to him -- with his chest to Nino’s thin back, Aiba’s warmth is redefined. 

"You're an idiot," Nino yawns. "It's my house too." 

~

"Actually, I think," Sho says the following day, sounding as if he were in disbelief too, "that the excuse worked."

They're on the phone, one nerve-racking week later. Aiba is sucking in his second coffee of the morning. He's in a Starbucks in Tokyo centre, refueling for his next job: recording at the studio for Arashi's next single. 

"The thing is that people aren't saying, 'oh, they're acting more affectionate with each other, so there must be something happening behind-the-scenes, and look, they share a house!'"

"They aren't?" Aiba asks, stupefied.

"Well, not like _that_ ," Sho amends, "I just mean -- since we act the same way that we pretty much always do, there isn't anything groundbreaking to report on. They can't match what the house _could_ represent to a change in our behaviour, so they're stuck with taking our word for things. In any other situation people might be suspicious of our intentions, but I guess, in our case, because of our history of being close, they're just -- giving us the benefit of the doubt."

"Really?!"

"I'm speaking in generalizations, of course, there will always be some dissenters -- but, for example, Aiba, yesterday, Miyagi-san asked me how the view was from your place, because he was also thinking of purchasing a new house. It was a completely regular conversation!"

"Wooow," Aiba says. "I guess that's good news."

"I'd like to think so," Sho laughs. "Either way, it seems that things are nowhere near as bad as they could be."

A huge mercy. All these years of being such a tight-knit group, on camera and off, has apparently earned them an unique reputation. Aiba isn't sure if the exact line of thought that people are following is, "Oh, well, they've always been like that, so sharing a summer house is totally normal for them," but according to Sho, it's some variation thereof, and it kind of makes Aiba want to giggle hysterically with the craziness of it all. Should he be aghast that they've always held this kind of "feeling" as a group? Or should he just take it as a blessing? Right now he's 98% thankful and 2% all other emotions. He knows it doesn't mean that the house will be taken for granted now, but -- maybe it's not a big a deal as all that. 

"Do we act, like, super blatant or something?" Aiba asks. "On camera, I mean?" It's not news that there's a clear pattern of behaviour when the five of them interact together in any variation, one of casual touches and genuine laughter and camaraderie, and it's always been as natural to Aiba as it has to the others, but he doesn't think they've been broadcasting anything beyond the fact that they're just... really good friends and bandmates. 

Sho hums. "We've always gotten questions about our closeness, in interviews. Obviously it wasn't our intention to put out any sort of image, but I think we have to admit that we do. Not a _flirty_ one or anything," he adds hastily. "But something unique. People respond to it. I think for many cases, this level of transparency between stars and the public would be worrisome, but for us, it actually works out. People like our sincerity and love for each other."

"Well, _yeah_ ," says Aiba. Obviously. " So... what now?"

"Now, we go on as normal," Sho says. His tone turns wry. "It'd be a shame to mess with a good thing, don't you think?"

Aiba takes a slurp of his coffee and catches sight of himself in the reflection of the window; he's smiling.

"Good," he says, because he can, and because he believes in it. "I'm happy." 

~

When he arrives at the recording studio, Ohno is just leaving, and he greets Aiba with a tilted, tired grin. 

"Aiba-chan," he says. 

"Hey," Aiba grins back, because even if dim, Ohno's smile always inspires others. "Everything went smoothly?"

"Yep." 

"You like the single?"

"Yep."

"Great!" Aiba lowers his voice, just a bit. "Uh, probably still not the best idea to come over tonight. If you'd been planning to. And it's okay if you weren't!"

Ohno pats Aiba's arm. "I'm staying at my apartment tonight. I'm going drinking with a friend in the evening. You want to come?"

"That's okay. I have some scripts to read over for tomorrow. Thanks for thinking of me, though."

"Okay. Next time."

"You could invite Nino?” Aiba suggests. He doesn’t expect Ohno to say yes, but it’s practically a running joke between them now; after the first (and only) time Ohno and Nino went out drinking together, the two of them never again tried for a repeat experience. It had taken some begging to pry the reason out of Nino, but it all boiled down to awkwardness. Nino and Ohno had their own invisible language made out of shoulder bumps and butt pats and hunched shoulders. Sitting side by side, surrounded by Arashi, their vocabulary flourished and preened (or at least Nino's did), but sitting across from each other in a typical yellow-hued bar, looking like any two men who’d suffered a too-long day, they were reduced to the inadequate words of the common folk -- and even those had up and deserted Nino’s otherwise unquenchable mouth that night. He’d said there was too much pressure to find a good conversation topic when they’d already been gabbing all day in the studio, and putting extra effort to make Ohno contribute something there felt overindulgent. Sitting in silence was uncomfortable in the sense that Nino had the nagging feeling of, “Shouldn’t one of us be saying something?” even though the answer was, “Not really.” But even that was less uncomfortable than forcing themselves to speak, so there they sat, wordless, for almost two hours, taking turns pouring from the sake bottle until they’d finished every last drop. Nino later called it one of the most frustrating nights of his life. Ohno, when prodded by Jun, had said it was “pretty good.” 

Aiba could write encyclopaedias about those two and still never be able to understand them. 

“Nah,” Ohno says now, playing up to his part. “He’d just ruin the mood.” 

“Imagine if he brought a set of cards.”

Ohno winces. “The worst.”

“Well, I better get in there,” says Aiba, pointing to the studio. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” says Ohno, and scuffs away. 

Aiba watches him walk down the hall, falling in love again with the easy, lazy grace of Ohno’s movements. A faint thought buds in his mind about things lasting versus things wearing thin, but then he’s being called inside by their producer, and Aiba forgets.

~

He doesn’t expect anyone to be waiting at home for him that night, and in fact there isn’t. But Nino’s left a note on the kitchen table, _going back to apt!!!! fed pets!!!!! you’re welcome!!!!!!!_ , and the stove light is still on, shining a tiny spotlight onto a silver pot of untouched ramen, still lukewarm.

Aiba ladles himself a bowl and slurps it noisily as he walks the first floor of the house, from room to room, taking careful heel-toe-heel-toe steps like a tool-less cartographer. He remembers that segment they’d had on Doubutsuen about wolves, about how they marked their territory by rubbing their fur against trees and peeing into shrubbery. That’s how they claimed their land to the rest of the world. Don’t come in here. This is my place. If you enter and threaten me and my family, I will attack you. I will drive you out. 

Scary prospects. The five of them really dodged a bullet with everything that turned out in their favour; Aiba really doesn’t want to find out just how much he’d have to sacrifice for Arashi or _Arashi_. Maybe one day in the future he will, but for now, he can breathe easier. 

His dogs are sleeping in a corner of the study, lying on a pile of black and red clothes that turns out to be some of Sho’s sweaty t-shirts. Aiba pets them gently and Pichan’s little tail wags in his sleep.

It’s quiet now. It’s late enough that the cars prowling the streets have dwindled, and even the cicadas are taking a night off from their usual buzzing orchestra.

Aiba sits on the floor by his dogs and absently reads the spines of Sho’s books, stacked neatly in their shelves, while he finishes the last of his ramen. At the end of the row, the fourth shelf down, there’s a white soapstone elephant (a souvenir from India) acting as a bookend, and on its other side sits a framed photograph of the five of them. They’re at a restaurant somewhere: there’s meat on the grill, Ohno’s cheeks are full, Nino’s expressionless as he waves a peace sign, Jun is smiling tiredly, Aiba is reaching for more sauce, and Sho is the only one giving the camera his undivided attention. His bangs are matted with sweat and his sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders, but he’s grinning. 

Aiba has no recollection of when or where this happened (going by the colour of Jun and Nino’s hairstyles, it must have been a year ago? Or was it two? Are they in China or Thailand?) and no matter how long he looks at the picture, trying to deduce the scene like Sherlock Holmes, he doesn’t remember.

Maybe that’s a good thing. There’s no better evidence to show how they’ve always been the way they are.

No one even thought of breaking up, Aiba marvels. Despite the scandal. Or if they did, no one voiced it aloud. So much was at stake with the discovery of this house, and they could have fallen so far, but the choice they took was to weather the fallout together as if it had been their only one.

In his sleep, Mochan gives a soft growl, and his ears jerk happily at something invisible and soundless. 

“Yeah,” agrees Aiba, holding his empty bowl in his lap. “Me too.”

~

The next time a majority of them are in the house together, it's almost three weeks later. A long time, really, edging close to a month, but time works differently when you're a member of Johnny's Entertainment. Days start and end in a hazy fog, and time passes simultaneously slowly and within the blink of an eye. Aiba is lounging on the couch in the living room flipping through television channels just to see the blur of faces, and it's only when he hears Sho and Jun start yelling (Jun forcefully, Sho fearfully) about greasing cookware, coupled with Ohno playing the steady, dull tune of Chopsticks on Nino's keyboard, that Aiba realizes just how much he's missed this. It hits his chest with a force that nearly winds him for a second, and on cue, Ohno's repetitious chords stop. 

"--lled non-stick for a reason!" says Jun.

"I'll buy us another one," says Sho hurriedly.

"You do that."

"Ah," says Ohno, suddenly appearing behind the couch. Aiba tilts his head backwards to meet Ohno's lips for a quick peck, and giggles when he feels Ohno's hands slide from his shoulders down his chest, like dripping water. "Aiba-chan's smiling."

"Aiba-chan is," agrees Aiba.

"Excited for dinner?"

"You know it." Sho had wanted to make tacos tonight, which means Jun is going to salvage most of the ruin and they'll have tortillas.

"--red vinegar!" In the background, Jun is still expounding on about cooking to a bewildered but earnest Sho.

"And yet, in the end, it all tastes like vinegar!" argues Sho.

Aiba links his arms behind Ohno's neck and pulls him down, so Ohno is leaning halfway over the back of the couch. "Where's Ninomiya-dono tonight?" Aiba asks. 

"Script reading session," Ohno says. "I'm going to meet him after dinner."

"Why can't he just come here?" It's clearly been too long since it was the five of them in the house. Never mind that they'd all had group filming yesterday.

Ohno shrugs. "Lazy."

"You should forget to bring him leftovers, that'll teach him."

"He'll just buy milk buns at a conbini. Eat a dozen for dinner, then six more for breakfast."

"Wash it down with cold tea and apathy," Aiba adds.

"He could do commercials for that."

"Ninomiya, Indifferent Man."

Ohno laughs.

Dinner is peaceful but noisy, filled with clinking utensils on plates, thudding glasses on the table, and Sho's lengthy prattle. Aiba is overstuffing himself with his third tortilla when Sho asks, "Hey, Aiba-chan. Have you ever given thought to hosting a party here?"

Aiba pauses mid-chew. "Wow, never!" A piece of green pepper flies out of his mouth. Aiba rubs it off his chin and tries again. "No, honestly. I haven't at all."

Sho's forehead crinkles. "Oh. But why not?"

"Uh," Aiba says, swallowing his mouthful of food. "I don't know. I wanted to get you guys here first, right? Once you came, it was -- there wasn't much more that I needed. And now, with the scandal and everything--" he pauses. "Isn't it better to keep the house private?" He looks to Jun and Ohno. 

"I've been thinking about that too lately," says Jun. "A party might be a good idea. Now that the Arashi vacation house is a thing, people are wondering how come we didn't make an announcement or something, and why none of them have been invited to visit. I'm not suggesting that we need to have a house party to remove further suspicion from us, but..." he trails off, wrist twirling his knife. "My mother's asked to see the place."

"Mine too," Ohno agrees. 

"Then let's bring them by," says Aiba. It's not like he would say no. Come to think of it, his own parents are probably past fed up with him for never being invited over. 

"Are you okay with a party, then?" asks Sho.

Aiba smiles in bemusement. "Why wouldn't I be? It'll be fun!"

"Just wanted to make sure," says Sho. "It's a big step. It's one thing to acknowledge that we have a residence together, but it's something else to bring other people inside it. Of course it's not exactly that we were trying to keep the house a secret, but still. There's that element of exposition. We might fuel some fires."

"Or we might earn more acceptance," says Jun.

"Yes, of course that's the ideal. In any case," Sho sighs. "I don't think it's an event we should neglect. But on the other hand, I don't feel we need to make a huge deal of it. We can invite some friends, some family, that's it."

"Sounds great," says Aiba.

"This means we'll have to clean house," warns Jun, eyeing each of them balefully. "Everyone has to help. I want this entire building spotless -- _and_ boxless." 

"Whoops, I changed my mind," says Aiba. "Let's never invite anyone over, ever. I don't care about people anyway."

"Too late," says Jun grimly. "We're doing this."

~

"This isn't really _our_ party, is it," says Nino sullenly. He places another freshly-dried sake glass in line with its identical siblings in the dish rack, and picks up another from the sink. "It's Jun's party. He conquered it. We're the peasants now. We're the hired help."

"We're not getting paid," says Ohno mildly, carving another rose garnish out of the radish in his palm.

"Right, Captain! We should be getting paid!"

"No one will be getting paid for their services," says Sho, who is tapping a lightning-fast message to someone on his phone. "Jun says he has the vegetables, but the meat platter isn't ready yet. He doesn't sound happy."

"That's his fault for showing up at the store so early! It's barely noon!" Nino throws down his dishtowel dramatically and it slaps dully against the ceramic countertop. He spends a second frowning at it, then picks it up again with the air of a resigned martyr. "I want a nap."

"Matsujun said we can nap after we've got everything prepared," Aiba says. 

"He's not the boss of me," mutters Nino, but continues drying the glassware. 

Ohno puts his third radish rose onto the salad and says, "Can we start drinking?"

Sho opens his mouth, and Aiba can just about hear the emphatic _no_ at the tip of his tongue, but Sho then says, "Maybe just one beer each. I think we're all a bit nervous." 

He's barely finished his sentence before Nino's wrenching open the fridge door.

They toast to good health, a good party, and an appeased Matsumoto Jun. 

~

The rest of the day unravels like this: they drink two beers each before Jun comes home and catches them in the act because Ohno hadn’t hid his bottle quickly enough. Jun scoffs disgustedly at them as if they've personally vomited in each of his Italian shoes but doesn't refuse when Nino offers up his unfinished beer bottle. By the time seven o'clock rolls around like the tail end of a spool of yarn, the house is clean, all their boxes are flattened and stocked in the storage closet, the floors have been swept, the pets have been fed, the alcohol has been put into the fridge, the meat has been put into the oven to keep warm, and Jun is satisfied enough to sit down for the first time that day. They tide themselves over with a small dinner of store-made bentos Jun had picked up at the conbini on the way home. The table is set with food for the guests so they sit in a circle on the living room floor, plastic containers arranged in the middle, and wordlessly pass each other what's needed with a vague flick of their fingers or a nod of their chin. This five-part choreography, they know well. How many times have they huddled around each other just like this, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a whirlwind summer of a whirlwind year? Back when they were go-go-go all the time, five wind-up Energizer Bunnies with a parade of activities stretching long before them, as endless as the Great Wall of China, who else could they turn to for support, commiseration, empathy, rage, and encouragement, aside from each other? Sharing water bottles, bumming a cigarette, offering a shoulder as a bony pillow, Arashi survived their worst like this, in the same way a colony of Emperor penguins bar out the Antarctic's ferocious winter storms. These little breaks, pockets of time where they ignored the world that demanded their energy like an insatiable leech, are a habit that have lasted them decades.

The truth is that Aiba had been wary about this party. It wasn't anything against Sho and Jun's idea. Aiba thinks a party is a good idea. The point needs to be made that this house is here to stay, and that neither it nor Arashi will be torn down by anyone's doing. But Aiba's worried that it's too soon after their scandal: after they finally emerge from the hurricane to sail calmer waters, wouldn't it be best not to rock the boat? Up till now, there's been no other people inside the house except for the five of them. It doesn't even matter what other people's reactions will be; just bringing in others will cause a shaking of the balance they've so painstakingly constructed. A man's home is his castle, and Aiba doesn't want his fortress to crumble. 

Is it safe to say that Aiba's scared? Maybe a little. 

It sort of feels like the old days all over again, when the five of them had just embarked on a _relationship_ relationship together -- them, no one else, for as long as they could make it. After you make a decision of that magnitude, how do you face the next day? There is happiness, there is excitement, there is the shimmering quality the world seems to take, as if the day has been painted in fresh, new colours -- but the decisions themselves hold weight. They are a conscious movement. They are Aiba thinking, "Yes, we've done it; now -- what next? What comes after?" 

They have made a home and are about to open wide its doors to the tumultuous world outside. What presents will the future greet them with, when this party is over, when the next morning dawns? 

Aiba remembers when they'd first been together as five: those nervous, wavering days of is-this-okay-yes-it's-okay-you-can-I-want-you-to-please-but-are-you-sure hesitancy. Although the barriers between them had been torn down, uncrossed distance still lay there, and it was hard to take the first step. After so many years of holding back touches and swallowing down words, it felt more natural to give space than to claim territory, no matter that they all wanted to be close. They had to work at it. Relearn to be comfortable as one, rather than a group of five. No one wanted to push too hard, too fast, and ruin everything so early on, when they had barely grown into anything. Trepidation spun around their heads like flies, their desire hanging between them like silk of a spider's web; a single twitch from one member would send vibrations across the threads to all the others, but would not reel them in. Aiba remembers thinking of their choice to be together as a shell that had finally been pierced open, only the insides were still hidden in shadow, as of yet unrevealed. Of course they all wanted their love to emerge out like a butterfly from a chrysalis, but it could very well be the opposite: a spilt yolk, its deformity irreparable. Nino and Ohno had to act as their spearheads, showing them that reaching for each other could be as easy as breathing. That it was only their own mental blocks that kept them in stasis -- everything else was raring to go, engine fueled and accelerator thrumming. The start flag had already been waved! Hit the gas pedal! (Nino had made a lot of driving metaphors and gear-shift innuendo because it was around this time that Ohno had been learning to drive.) But even then, it had been more comfortable for them to start as twos before working their way up to threes and fours and, yes, finally, a quintet.

Their first time in bed together as five, they hadn't been entirely sober. It wasn't in preparation for _it_ \-- it had been circumstance more than anything. There had been a lunar new year's concert full of Johnnys, and Arashi, legendary seniors, had been given the perfect amount of airtime to get them hyped up on the enthusiasm of the crowd, but enough backstage time for them to sneak in a few sips of drink here and there, getting them tipsy on alcohol just as much as they were on each other's company, on the electricity of the night. When the final set of fireworks sounded, Arashi ran out onto the stage for the last goodbyes, arms around each other and matching grins across their faces. Just like all of their concerts. The only difference was that after they'd retreated the shadows of the stage, the touches had lingered. On the way down the stairs, Aiba had felt the tickle of Ohno's long fingers, ghosting across the small of his back like a caress. Then Nino had pressed up against Aiba as they filed down narrow halls leading to their dressing rooms, his hot breath curling in Aiba's ear. "Aiba-chaaan," he'd sung before darting ahead, slapping a hand across Ohno's ass as he passed. Aiba had turned, meeting Sho's bemused eyes, and they'd grasped hands. "Feeling good, Aiba-chan?" Sho had asked, and Aiba had answered straight away: "I feel great! Amazing!" And then Jun was there, wiping his sweaty hair out of his face, his expression exuberant as only Jun could be after a concert, and when Aiba had said, "Jun-kun," Jun had bit his bottom lip, a meaningful _look_ peeking through under his long lashes, and it had made Sho say it again, more hoarsely: "Jun-kun." 

"My place, later," Jun had said, and sauntered off after Nino and Ohno. 

They didn't waste time to mess around in the showers, and all took separate cabs to Jun's apartment complex. Jun was the only one of them who owned a queen-sized bed, and it had proved handy then: by the time Aiba showed up, a bottle of congratulatory sake in hand, the private party was well underway. Nino and Sho were kissing on the bed, Sho in only his wife-beater, and Jun's hair was a mess, as if ruffled through by multiple pairs of hands. It had lit a flaring spark within Aiba's gut to see Jun disheveled, his mouth swollen pink and his eyes sparkling; Jun had pulled Aiba by the front of his shirt and hauled him to the bed. He'd been passed from Nino's lips to Sho's; his clothes had been efficiently removed by Nino's darting hands and Aiba had hardly noticed. Ohno had magically sidled in some cloudy time after, a soft smile on his face, fingers making quick work of the buttons on his own shirt. Aiba's head had been spinning as Ohno had leaned in for a kiss, and to this day Aiba's not sure if it was the alcohol or Arashi that did it, but he'd felt as if Ohno's lips were lighting him on fire. He'd felt incredible all over, high on life and safe and loved, so loved. 

"We're so awesome," Aiba had said. 

He remembered Sho laughing, Nino snickering, Jun teasing, "Still coherent. Impressive." 

"Is this happening?" Aiba had demanded, then, unable to hide the sudden shaky quality of his voice. His heart was going triple-time, wracking his body like the drums of La Tormenta ( _say Matsujun, say Nino, say Oh-chan, say Sho-kun, say Aiba-chan _). The world was spinning around him; the only thing steady was this bed, these bodies on the bed, these hands anchored on Aiba's body. To mask his rising nervousness, Aiba had grabbed for Jun and dragged him close. "I'm not dreaming, right?"__

__"Hmm," Ohno had agreed, sidling behind Aiba, dipping his hands low between Aiba's legs, teeth nibbling a path up Aiba's neck. Making an Aiba sandwich. "You taste good, Aiba-chan."_ _

__"I _feel_ good. I feel like -- like, something about to explode. In a good way!"_ _

__"My only request is that if you feel the urge to puke, go to the washroom," Jun said, completely ruining the moment with his pragmatism. Nino had kicked into his side, and Jun grabbed his ankle before it could retreat. "I mean it, Nino."_ _

__"No one's going to puke! No one's that drunk! No one is blacking out, no one is falling asleep, no one is going to _forget this_. Okay?"_ _

__Jun had blinked. "Okay."_ _

__"Okay, yes," Sho had added firmly._ _

__"Mm," Ohno had said._ _

__"Okay," Aiba had whispered, and opened his arms._ _

__And the morning, when it melted over them, had been awkward and sticky and cramped: perfect in every way._ _

__And look how far they've come: still together, with a house, about to host a _party_. If Aiba were even ten percent more inebriated right now, he'd be crying and yelling his love for Arashi from the fucking rooftop. How had he gotten so lucky?_ _

__There's a movie in this somewhere, in the journey the five of them have travelled. One about the unpredictability of life, of following your heart, sticking together, taking the risk to realize your dreams, and the beauty of the future._ _

__"What is going on in that head of yours?" Nino says, snapping Aiba back to attention. "You look way out of it."_ _

__"I'm not!" Aiba protests. "I'm right here."_ _

__"What are you thinking about?" Sho asks, cracking open another carton of rice._ _

__"Nothing much," Aiba says sheepishly, shaking his head. "Just -- things." He smiles. "Looking forward to the party, that's all."_ _

__~_ _

__"Oh my GOD," Nino hisses, circumventing Aiba on the way to the bathroom. "Ohno invited _Chinen_. What the fuck!"_ _

__"Oh yeah, I saw," says Aiba, peering out into the crowd mingling around the food-laden living room table. Chinen's bowl of hair is hovering near Ohno's left shoulder; Ohno is mainly focused on the shrimp nigiri. "He brought us a very nice picture frame as a present. You should say hi."_ _

__"No!" Nino says, appalled. "Wait, the brown and gold frame, right? That one that came with a picture of Ohno on a boat?"_ _

__"Uh, yeah. I think it was from their fishing trip, actually. A few years ago."_ _

__Nino expels a breath in disbelief. "That little -- I'm getting rid of it!"_ _

__"No, don't you dare!" Aiba says, grabbing Nino's arm before Nino can dash upstairs. "Stop being a creeper and go back to the party! Be pleasant and make jokes! No destruction of anything allowed!"_ _

__"He's complaining already?" Sho says, wandering by. "All right, come with me, Nino. I'll make you a drink."_ _

__"Why bother? I'll just throw it in your face," Nino grumbles, but allows himself to be led back into the fray._ _

__Aiba ducks into the bathroom, relieves himself, checks his teeth in the mirror for crumbs of food, then nearly bashes the door into Jun's face on his way out._ _

__"Woah, sorry."_ _

__Jun glares at him. "If that had hit me," he says._ _

__"But it didn't!"_ _

__Jun is not swayed._ _

__"Also, uh, the party's going great, isn't it? Mao-chan even said so."_ _

__"It's going okay," Jun concedes. "Yoko is looking for you, by the way. He wants to get a room here too, apparently."_ _

__"Wow, is he ever in for a sad surprise."_ _

__Jun smirks, and pushes Aiba out of the way of the bathroom. "Just let him down gently."_ _

__"MASAKI," Becky shouts at him from across the hall. She's standing next to Chunsan's cage. "CAN I LET CHUNSAN OUT?"_ _

__"NO, DON'T!" Aiba shouts, running over. "He'll poop _everywhere_."_ _

__~_ _

__Aiba thinks it's unfair to play favourites, especially within the riotous regatta of Kanjani8, but he has to admit that Ohkura gives really good presents. When Ohkura had first learned that Aiba would be adopting Holmes the cat after Mikeneko filming was completed, he had bought Aiba a three-tier cat castle/scratching post, the very pinnacle of which was topped with a tiny hand-made flag that bore Kanjani8's logo. (Aiba later replaced it with an Arashi flag, but pinned the Kanjani flag on the next highest tower.) Aiba heard from Nino, too, that after they'd finished filming Ooku together, Ohkura had gifted him with a tailored kimono in the exact style that he'd worn for the movie. This time, he's outdone himself: a set of seven bone china sake cups, each painted a different colour of the rainbow. Perfect for the five of them, plus a couple of guests._ _

__"Invite me over often, okay," Ohkura had said, as Aiba thumped his back in gratitude._ _

__"Of course!"_ _

__Aiba's gotten a lot of requests in the same vein in the last few hours. "Invite me over during the summer!" "Invite me over during the winter!" "Start your own bed and breakfast or something! And then give me a discount!" It seems that the house is a huge hit. It's slightly surprising because it's not as if some of their guests don't have their own vacation houses, in Kyoto or even farther. But maybe it's a different appeal that they have here, where it's already established that it's a house to be shared among good friends. This house had _Arashi's_ approval. _ _

__"Toma and Shun switched all our CDs around to the wrong cases," Jun says, sighing loudly as he squeezes next to Ohno half-sprawled on their couch. “So we’ll have a fun time sorting that back out.” Ohno moves over for him obligingly, managing to push Nino off the other end. Nino drops to the carpet with a muffled “oomph” and stays there, a limp rag on the ground._ _

__“They’re not allowed here ever again,” Jun says._ _

__“No?” Ohno asks._ _

__“No.”_ _

__“I think they had a good time. Don’t you?”_ _

__“I’m sure they did,” Jun says dryly. He peels off his dinner jacket and tosses it at Aiba on the sofa. It lands on Aiba’s face._ _

__“Whyyy,” Aiba whines, pulling it off and throwing it towards Nino. It hits his butt; Nino ignores it utterly._ _

__It’s nearing 3 o’clock in the morning. The party’s officially over, Jun having finally kicked out the lag-behind Shun a few minutes ago. The house resounds with the lingering echoes of chattering voices and laughter piled on top of each other, overlapped with the tinkling of cutlery and glass, the occasional snuffle from the dogs or twit from Chunsan. It’s a weird sort of quiet, after a party: the absence of where there used to be sound is so different from the absence of sound where there’s usually silence. The air still feels warm and stuffy with the energy left behind from their guests; if Aiba raises his head, he can still catch some stray wisps of perfume and cologne, reminding him of those who’d been close, just moments ago. Nothing beats having a good time with good friends. He feels tired in the best way. He could fall asleep right here, on this sofa. Just close his eyes and drift into the clouds._ _

__"Eh," says Sho, the last one to join their tuckered out flock. "Are we camping out here for the night? There's no room for me."_ _

__"Join Nino on the floor," says Jun._ _

__"Tempting, but..."_ _

__"Carry me to bed, Sho-san," Nino whines, lifting up his arms. Sho sighs fondly and pulls Nino upright._ _

__"Up," he says, yanking on Nino's arms. "Come on."_ _

__Nino stands up with an aggrieved sigh, but doesn't make it far. One of Ohno's fingers is hooked into the belt loops of his pants. Ohno tugs. Nino takes a step forward. Ohno's arm stretches. Nino takes another step forward. Ohno starts to slide off the couch._ _

__Nino says, "Is this your way of telling me to take off my pants?"_ _

__Ohno hums._ _

__"Or is this your way of taking off my pants?"_ _

__Ohno looks at him, wordless. Nino stares back, eyes narrowed._ _

__Sho hastily steers Nino away. "Before these thoughts bleed into actions, let's find a nice comfortable bed, shall we? I know just the place."_ _

__"Hold it!" Jun says. "Someone has to put the leftovers back in the fridge."_ _

__"Aw, let's leave it for tonight, Matsujun," grins Aiba. He raises his arms so Sho can lift him off the sofa too. "The party went well, didn't it? We should reward ourselves." His head feels warm from the alcohol he'd consumed, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to share some of that warmth with Jun. He hobbles over to Jun on the couch and kneels down, cups his hands around Jun's face and places his mouth over Jun's forehead, nose, cheeks, lips. "Jun," Aiba giggles. "You taste like chocolate liquor candies."_ _

__"Oi," says Sho. "Pretty sure Kobayashi-san got those for me."_ _

__"Mmm," Jun agrees, humming carelessly into Aiba's mouth. "I'll make it up to you."_ _

__"Who are you even talking to?" says Nino, because Jun's got his eyes closed as he tips his head back for Aiba's questing tongue down his neck._ _

__"I'm talking to, mm, I—" he groans. "Leader. Your hands are freezing."_ _

__Ohno laughs. "Sorry," he says, but doesn't sound apologetic at all as he pushes his fingers down Jun's arms, like he's unwrapping a present slowly, methodically. He ducks his head to scrape his lips across Jun's jaw and Aiba darts in for a quick peck on Ohno's puckered mouth. Ohno scrunches up his nose; Aiba hides his grin into the crook of Jun's neck._ _

__"Can we take this elsewhere?" Nino gripes. "My back hurts from standing all afternoon."_ _

__This gets Jun to his feet quickly. "You should have said something earlier," he says, grabbing Aiba and Ohno's wrists and pulling them in the direction of upstairs._ _

__"What," Nino says, following sluggishly at their heels. "And get another lecture? I've got better ways to waste my time. Ow." He turns around to glare at Sho. "Did you _spank_ me?"_ _

__"Walk faster please," Sho says, his tone pure sugar._ _

__Nino moves faster._ _

__Right at the top of the staircase, Aiba pauses and then runs back downstairs to check the doors are locked and to flip off the lights. Then he hurries back up, into the honey-lit master bedroom, to where the others are waiting._ _

__~_ _

__He fully expects to one day have a heart attack in bed. It's unavoidable by this point. Aiba's healthy, very fit for his age, and doesn't eat _that_ much junk food (his affection for sugar in coffee aside), and there's nothing in his medical history that really suggests a strong predilection for heart attacks, except maybe the activities that Aiba gets up to at night. Wait, maybe a heart attack isn't the right ailment. Heat stroke! It'll be a heat stroke. A man can only take so much before combustion. _ _

__In the centre of the bed lies Jun, the only one fully naked. Sho and Nino and Ohno are at three corners around him, all reaching inwards with greedy hands. It's like The Birth of Venus, with horny cherubs, and Jun is certainly as resplendent as the Goddess of Love, all milk white skin against dark green coverlet, eyes molten black and eyelashes fluttering. Sho and Ohno's hands streak up and down his flushed chest, plucking skin and nipples, and Jun gasps, once, twice; Aiba swallows convulsively in time. Nino smirks, and lowers himself to suck Jun's rising cock into his mouth, and Jun's hips tilt upwards in one smooth glide. Nino's blunt fingers pinch into the flesh of Jun's thighs, a quick warning, and Jun hisses, lowering himself back down. Ohno leans in and tilts Jun's chin up for a long, filthy kiss; the wet sounds they make are obscene and they only make Nino slurp louder._ _

__Sho's pushed his boxers down and is stroking himself leisurely, his grip on his own cock slow and sure, and his eyes are trained on the lovely pink stain infusing up Jun's chest. One of his hands lies on Jun's left pectoral, as if keeping guard of what's underneath._ _

__"It was a good party," Sho says, musingly, almost to himself, and Jun moans his agreement around Ohno's tongue._ _

__Aiba is sitting behind Ohno and Nino, and he's holding off on touching himself yet. He's keeping his hands off Jun, too, because if he does that, he'll lose himself in it, and won't be able to stop. Aiba's an action guy, a do-now-think-later kind of guy, but Arashi sentimentality brings up his lesser known reflective side: sometimes he just likes to look, soak in the sights and vulgar noises that they make, let himself marinate in it, because it's moments like these he wants to bask in forever. He wants the sensations tattooed inside him somehow, so whenever he closes his eyes, he can see the bobbing of Nino's head at Jun's groin, hear the whisper of Sho's chuckle in Ohno's ear, feel the bounce of the bed as Ohno shifts his balance to offer his fingers for Nino to suck when Nino pulls off Jun's cock. He wants to carry this heat around with him always, keeping him warm on even the coldest winter nights. So even a stranger who has no idea who Arashi is could recognize him on the street, not as an idol star, but as someone who has love, is loved, and has a family to return to after a long day's work._ _

__"We should be recording this," Aiba whispers. Everything's so beautiful his heart hurts from it._ _

__"No, we definitely shouldn't," says Nino, voice roughened, and how he can sound waspish from where he's lying is beyond Aiba. "Also, what the hell do you think you're doing? If you're just going to watch, it's ten thousand yen for the show."_ _

__Aiba laughs, loud and bright. "Wow, someone has a high opinion of himself."_ _

__"I've got the harem to prove it."_ _

__"If you're going to prove anything," Jun hisses, snapping down to grab Nino's head and directing his cock back into Nino's open mouth, "it's not going to be by talking." He yelps, hips jerking, and from Nino's smirk Aiba just knows that there had been a scrape of teeth involved._ _

__"Aiba-chan," Sho pants, pulling up one of Nino's hands to his cock, "if you're planning on joining us, your window of active participation is rapidly decreasing."_ _

__Well, far be it for Aiba to lose participation marks—_ _

__He shuffles closer on eager knees and reaches for Ohno, who's closest, draping over him like a friendly octopus. He nibbles from Ohno's ear inwards, until Aiba is nipping at Ohno's lips, and Ohno gives in by turning to face Aiba fully, arms going around Aiba's neck until they're clinging to each other. Aiba knows Jun and Sho are watching, so he makes it good for them: pressing wet, sloppy kisses to Ohno's mouth, squeezing down Ohno's back until he's got two handfuls of Ohno's ass cheeks, and then hefting Ohno into his lap so Ohno can grind onto him, cock to cock. Ohno struggles against Aiba's grip, giggling softly, "Aiba-chan, our underwear," and Aiba says, "Nuh uh, keep on going," so that's what Ohno does. Ohno pushes Aiba down to lie flat, and links their fingers together, two handholds by Aiba's burning ears, and slots their hips together. Through their precum-damp underwear, their cocks hard against each other, Ohno starts to rock._ _

__It's like a tidal wave. Aiba is pulled under, gets his breath stolen right out of his lungs, and the only things keeping him from shuddering like a wind-blown leaf is the reassuring pressure of Ohno's hands on his._ _

__Everything is so gentle when he's under Ohno. It's a gradually building fire that's kindled inside him, lit brighter with every added second and every aching slide of Ohno's cock. Ohno is the best at this, making Aiba feel every damn inch of himself, until he can feel the sparks of pleasure running through all the veins of his body, turning him into a humming string of desire, causing something in his gut to coil tighter and tighter as he reaches for—for—_ _

__From beside them, Jun groans like he's being let out of a cage, his hair tossing on the bed covers, and Ohno _stops moving_._ _

__"Captain!" Aiba moans, wrecked._ _

__"Wait," Ohno says, and Aiba stills. Ohno lets go of him, and reaches down to pull Aiba's underwear down. Aiba lets out a sobbing breath as his cock is freed, and he reaches down to cup it._ _

__"No, wait, I said," says Ohno, and Aiba notices suddenly that he's holding the lube. Ohno squirts some on Aiba's free palm, laying like a forgotten book by Aiba's spinning head. "Go ahead," Ohno smiles, and Aiba's hands obey a will of their own, reaching down to push two fingers immediately into himself with a satisfied grunt. He struggles not to stroke himself too quickly; clearly Ohno's got a rare plan in that precious head of his, and Aiba loves when this happens. He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he hears Jun's moans start up again and -- didn't he just come? -- Aiba turns his head to see Jun with his dark eyes half-shut, mouth open and lips shiny, fingers curling on the blankets as Ohno presses two fingers deep inside him._ _

__"Matsu—" Aiba says. "Matsu -- Jun. Jun, are you—"_ _

__"Just hold on a second more," Jun grimaces, lifting his legs high and helping Ohno stretch him by pushing one of his fingers in his hole alongside Ohno's._ _

__"Fuuuck," Sho says, voice reedy and desperate. "I need -- nngh."_ _

__"Touch me, Sho-chan," Nino demands, slithering up to Sho and commandeering his mouth. He whines a little; Aiba knows that whine, can read it like a lyric sheet, and though he can't see, he can picture Nino and Sho's cocks pressing together, being rubbed by Sho's sturdy grip. He's bewitched by the spasms of Sho's hand splayed on the dip in Nino's back until Jun levers himself into view again, swinging a thigh over Aiba._ _

__"Now," Jun says, grinning, "hold still." He grabs Aiba's cock, runs a hand down it once, slicking it, and then lines it up with his hole._ _

__Aiba clenches his teeth and tries not to yell. Jun laughs breathily at him and pushes himself down until he's sitting flush on Aiba, his ass grinding in tiny semi-circles as he adjusts himself to comfort. It feels amazing and Aiba's hands push up Jun's thighs as if pulled by a magnet, clamping down tightly as Jun begins to ride him. Jun's mouth is hanging open as he paces his breaths, and his eyelashes flutter dark on his pink cheeks as he rises up high and sinks deeply back down. Aiba tries to help, thrusting up into Jun's heat, but Jun says, "Keep still, I said," and again Aiba forces himself to obey. He knows why the second he feels something down low, caressing his hole with fresh lube._ _

__"Oh," Aiba gasps softly, as Ohno gradually, so fucking gradually, pushes his fingers in. "This—"_ _

__Jun clamps down on Aiba as Ohno languidly presses against _there_ , and Aiba almost chokes -- this is too much, it's going to destroy him. The last time they'd done this (the one and only time Aiba had been the centre), Aiba had come so hard he'd blacked out. He'd been useless for the entire day following. It's like he's being stuck into the heart of the inferno, everything so intense that it melts him, reducing him to a boneless network of nerves, all set ablaze, sparking flames through every part of his body until his brain is a pool of gibberish. _ _

__"Aiba," Jun says. "Are you okay?"_ _

__Aiba takes Jun's hands and presses them to Aiba's hips so Jun can have more leverage._ _

__"I'm okay," he manages._ _

__"Good Aiba-chan," murmurs Ohno from behind Jun, as he flicks his wrist. "Jun-chan, can you—"_ _

__"Yeah," says Jun, and in one, smooth motion, slides off Aiba and arranges himself on his back. Aiba's beyond thinking at this point; he's functioning on autopilot as he flips over too, ruts in between Jun's legs, and pushes back into Jun's hole, sliding in like butter as Jun groans appreciatively. Then there's the warmth of Ohno at his back, lining himself up and pushing in so quickly Aiba yelps. Ohno digs his forehead into the nook of Aiba's beck and starts thrusting. Each push of Ohno's cock into him pushes Aiba into Jun too, and their triplet of moans echo in succession in a parade of gratification._ _

__"Nino, Sho," calls Jun, reaching up a hand to wave them closer. Sho kneels down low beside Jun and Jun takes his cock in hand, red and leaking, and pumps it a few times. "You're close?"_ _

__"Yes," says Sho. "Yes. I—"_ _

__"Not in my hair," says Jun, and that's all the warning he gives before he licks a wet stripe down the palm of his hand and curls his fingers back around Sho's cock. Sho's hips stutter, his voice catching in his throat like popped bubbles._ _

__"Ni—" Aiba says, over the muggy heat overtaking his brain. He's reaching the end of his rope; his fuse is running out. But he can't let go yet. He can see Sho and can feel (oh, and how he can feel) Jun and Ohno, but he can't see Nino._ _

__"I'm good," says Nino. "Oh-chan's got me."_ _

__Aiba turns to look over his shoulder; Ohno and Nino are kissing: hard, messy glides of lips on lips and tongues warring battle in a way that will never take place with words. They don't even seem to be breathing, taking everything they need from each other. Nino looks like he's suffering, his brows pinched together and one of his arms banded tightly over Ohno's shoulder, fingers at Ohno's jutting collarbone. He must be touching himself behind Ohno, because the edges of Ohno's mouth are curled into a smirk and they only do that when Nino is fraying, losing his harshness, getting worn into liquid edges due to how close he is to unravelling completely. But that's good, that's amazing -- Aiba's close too, Sho is close, and Aiba knows Ohno must be close to by how he's speeding up his thrusts into Aiba into Jun, and his soft grunts are starting to slur into music._ _

__Aiba's arms are trembling from holding up his and Ohno's weights, and when he readjusts his balance he sees that Jun's hard again, cock flushed and gleaming at the tip, proud against Jun's pale belly, and the sight hits Aiba like a fist to the stomach._ _

__"Jun," he whines. He's panting like all the air has been sucked out of the room. His head is reeling like the world is ending and being created and is being stretched out forever, until the end of time. Aiba looks up and meets Sho's lust-fogged eyes, and Sho reaches over to cup Aiba's cheek. Aiba leans against that palm for a second, their sweat mixing, and it's not making him feel any cooler, but it's a safety line, and it delays the threatening laps of the wave building inside him by precious seconds. Seconds Aiba can take to feel this, feel more: Ohno's hard length inside him, glancing at his prostate; Jun's tight clench on him, burning him up; the wet sounds of lube and slapping skin and moving lips; of five voices, grating and humming and sharing their joy and pleasure in this, these resonating minutes where electricity is kindled inside their bodies and happiness is being poured from their skin. The wave in Aiba crests higher, nearly drowning him. He's about to overflow._ _

__Sho's thumb presses down in the centre of Aiba's bottom lip, and he says, "I can feel it."_ _

__And that's—_ _

__Aiba's gone. He's engulfed utterly, the pleasure flooding through him; transparent fireworks shoot off in his eyes, and his hips grind madly into Jun, back into Ohno, and he yells his completion into the humid air, incoherent and dizzy and near death and so alive and he thinks: yes—yes—yes._ _

__He doesn't know if he collapses backwards or pitches forwards as his arms finally give out; all he knows is someone is there to catch him, and kiss a smile into Aiba's trembling eyelids._ _

__~_ _

__December: winter has fully set in. The wind is howling through his ears as Aiba stamps into the house, kicking off his boots and shucking off his heavy wool coat. He locks the door behind him and pulls out his earbuds, then takes a second to rub at his chilly nose, pat some life back into his numbed cheeks. The house is quiet. Aiba hangs up his coat and scarf onto the hat stand by the door and shuffles his way inside. He has to go slowly; it's been a long, aching day._ _

__The evening outside is already washed in the dark blues of an early night, but inside the house is toasty yellow, beaming from the kitchen (typical). Aiba pads quietly towards it like a moth seeking flame. It's not so silent actually, now that the shrieks of the wind have left him. There's a soft piano melody being played from the sound system, and Aiba recognizes it as one of Nino's newer, nameless compositions. Nino is sprawled on the kotatsu, head pressed against the table and all his limbs underneath the blanket; his music composition book lies on the table too, open and scribbled on and left aside as Nino shares a quiet conversation with Ohno, who's sitting beside him. Ohno's mirroring Nino's position at the table, though his chin is pillowed on his crossed arms, and he's twiddling a pen in one hand as he blinks sleepily to Nino's words. Their legs are hidden from view by the blanket, but their knees must be touching from how close they're sitting -- maybe they're entwined. Maybe Nino's hands are busy. Ohno chuffs a laugh suddenly and Nino clicks his tongue. Their shoulders jostle together._ _

__At the other end of the kotatsu, Sho is sitting with his reading glasses on, laptop in front of him, and an array of memory cards in all shapes and sizes scattered around his mousepad. He's got a sheet of paper covered in notes and post-its and thick black arrows. He's wearing a pair of huge, garish earphones -- they're a pair Jun stole after he retired his DJ MJ act from concerts, and Sho has paid a lot of money to keep them in working condition. What Sho's looking at must be riveting, because Sho's eyes are large and eager as they skim across the screen, his right hand clicking the mouse madly from corner to corner. Aiba knows what he's working on. Sho is putting the finishing touches in his Arashi Share House DVD before he distributes four copies out for Christmas. The other day Sho'd asked what Aiba had wanted for his upcoming birthday -- the big thirty-eight -- and Aiba had been at a loss for words. He's usually never short of a wish list for special occasions, but he'd literally had nothing to suggest for this year. What else could he legitimately ask for? His birthday already came early -- this DVD and their first holiday together in this house will be the icing on the cake. _There's No Place Like...__ _

__The hiss of meat on hot oil sizzles through the air and Aiba takes a huge whiff of the dinner Jun is cooking: some sort of miso sauce and beef, it smells like. He's starving; all he'd had to eat after lunch was a quick bite from the studio's catering table about an hour ago, the earliest he could get out from his meeting about a new drama that he'd been offered to star in -- he'd surprised himself by saying that he was interested in producing it instead, and his suggestion hadn't been turned down. It's something to think on, at any rate, in these weeks of preparation for their new serial talk show starting early next year._ _

__Jun's sweeping around the kitchen -- in a very manly, Matsujun way -- wearing the apron Nino had bought for him and Ohno had decorated with a painting of a chimpanzee. He grabs the bottle of soy sauce and douses his frying pan in it; the hissing that unfurls reminds Aiba of his parents' restaurant. He should go back soon. The house is running low on the hot sauce that Sho likes, which Aiba's dad always orders in bulk._ _

__As if reading Aiba's mind, Sho glances up and sees him standing there, staring helplessly at them, like it's the only thing he knows how to do._ _

__Sho smiles. "Yo," he says. "Welcome home."_ _

__

__end_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love forever and ever to my beta taykash for supporting me through this and never letting me forget that I was responsible for finishing it. And thanks to elfie too, for all your kind words. <3 butabara_blokku my friend, words cannot describe how sorry I am this took me so... sooo... long to finish. But now I have, and I hope you are happy with the results. :') Your prompt was awesome okay THE END!!!!!!
> 
> For everyone else, thank you for reading!!


End file.
